Portrait
by sustantivo
Summary: A series of moments from Commander Shepard's life that have defined him, and turned him into the man he is. Some cruel, some violent, some beautiful, all of them important. No in-game scenes. MShep/Kaidan
1. Trinidad

Show me a hero, and I will write you a tragedy.

- Meertle Sorn, Salarian Philosopher

* * *

><p>"Name?" Corporal Silas asked, not looking up from his screen. He was in a foul mood propagated by a very long day following a very long night wrapped in the sweltering Caribbean summer. He had pulled his jacket open hours ago, but his shirt was soaked through with sweat and his hair was plastered to his skull, dripping hot liquid down the back of his neck. It seemed cruel to ship soldiers to Cuba during the hottest part of the year and leave them packed in a barracks filling out forms while bikini clad tourist girls wandered the beaches unescorted. He glanced up after a moment, and the scowl that had inhabited his face for the past four hours quivered at the sight of his newest hopeful.<p>

"What are you doing here kid?" He asked, wishing fervently for a beachside cerveza in place of this spiralling bureaucracy. What the hell was initial screening for, if not to catch jokers like this.

"I convinced the woman at the desk to let me up," the boy informed him. "my name is X."

"Hey good for you," Silas drawled, turning back to the light screen projected between them. "Why don't you go slap your mother for me?"

"I don't have a mother," the boy replied. His voice was quiet, but not sad, or angry, or pathetic. There was nothing in it at all, it was smooth and cold as dry steel. "I want to be in the Alliance."

"The Alliance doesn't make a habit of recruiting little boys," Silas replied as he pulled up a game on his screen. A space ship appeared in the corner, above the columns of scrolling data. He began to guide it through a maze, inhabited by other space faring enemies and the many devious traps they laid for him. "Take a time out for a few years and grow some more."

The boy needed more than a couple inches though. He was thin to the point of anaemia, his cheekbones jutting under his thin skin like razor blades. He had a Spanish look to him, might even have been considered artistocratic had he not had twelve different colours of hell beaten out of him not too recently. The dark skin was probably a deep, Caribbean tan in its natural state but at the moment it was a truly impressive spectrum of green and purple bruises. His dirty hair was dyed a harsh, chemical red with the roots showing black and looked like it had been cut a month ago with a piece of broken glass. His clothes were only a little bit dirtier than he was, fraying at all the edges and coming apart openly at the shoulder. Above and beyond all of that, he just looked young. Small, and fragile, and far too young.

"I'm ready now," the boy insisted. No childish braying or bravado, just cold steel brushed over confidence.

"You haven't even got hair on your balls," Silas waved one hand dismissively. "I said next." His scowl deepened as his ship exploded into simulated fire, respawned, and was promptly destroyed again.

"I have so. If I show you will you let me sign up?"

Silas couldn't help it, he laughed as his ship burst into sparks once more.

"You should go left instead of right," X advised. "You can lure those enemies back after you and trick them into setting the mines off for you."

"What do you know about it?" Silas snapped.

"More than you, obviously."

"Alright genius," Silas spun the display around so it faced the boy. He could watch the ship from behind the screen quite easily. "Show me what a great general you're going to be."

It took the boy a moment to figure out the controls, during which he died spectacularly. When the game started up again he had complete mastery of the simple controls and he sent the little ship spinning through the maze, dodging and blasting away. The score in the top corner spun up toward a spectacular number. Only when the computer's reflexes pushed up into a realm humanity couldn't hope to emulate did X surrender his little ship and step back.

"Okay," Silas grumbled. "You beat a computer game. How old are you kid?"

"I'm eighteen," X replied. To his credit, he kept a straight face and clear, calm eye contact. "You know how street kids run small."

Silas stared at him, then shrugged. The kid was lying, but it wasn't really his job to check that. That rested on the doctors who conducted the physicals, the bureaucrats that checked birth records and defended the Alliance against litigation. He was just a number cruncher, and he didn't feel like fighting in this god awful heat.

"Fine. But I can't put 'X' in as a name. The system wants a real name."

X bit his lip and appeared to be thinking carefully. Scars stood out on his bruises, stretched tight over the swollen flesh. He rubbed the one on his chin as he thought, the kind of gesture cultivated over a long period of having it. A touch of upper middle-class guilt stirred inside him when he thought about the hot tub his parents had maintained in the backyard his entire life and how miserable he had been when they wouldn't pay to get a pool installed too.

"I... I'm Trinidad," he said finally. Trinidad was a city up island, a pit of filthy violence ruled by gangs where police didn't go if they had any plans to retire with their wives and fat, happy grandchildren. It was the romanticized setting of a dozen games on the extranet, dark shooters full of violence. It was the subject of a dozen case studies about containing anarchy that can't be controlled. Still, the computer swallowed it without protest.

"Surname?" Silas asked.

"What street is this?"

Shepard and Newhaven Boulevard."

"Well Trinidad Newhaven sounds like a politician," the boy said with a crooked smile, "so I guess Shepard will do."

"Trinidad Shepard," Silas typed briefly, "eighteen years old," he coughed discreetly into his hand, "born on?"

"What's the date?"

"August 9th."

"Just use that."

"Okay, this is ridiculous," Silas sighed, rubbing sweat out of his eyes. He shouldn't have indulged the kid. He didn't look like he could beat stink out of a fart, he had no business running around the galaxy playing soldier. "And illegal. You should know the Alliance screens for false identification."

"I don't have identification, fake or legitimate," the boy shrugged. "Besides, I'm smart, I know how to fight, I know how to survive, the Alliance will be lucky to have me."

"Oh really, is that how you got that pretty face?" Silas indicated the swath of bruises mottling his cheeks and the side of his head. "By being smart and knowing how to fight?"

"You should see the other guys."

"Two of them were there?" Silas rolled his eyes.

"Three of them, actually," the boy replied. His face was dead serious. His eyes, Silas realized for the first time, were blue. The pure, tropical blue of the Caribbean sea under a clear sky but with a cold depth to them that seemed to cut where they lingered. "There was one of them when I left. I'd be surprised if he's still kicking now."

Against all logic, Silas could believe him. Those were not the eyes of an innocent child. They seemed huge and haunted and out of place in his narrow face. His hands were black and blue across the knuckles and the calluses on his fingers were thick and cracked as those of soldiers three times his age. Silas' hands were soft and supple. He had never killed anyone, but he'd known men who had and the boy looked more like them then he ever would.

"Are you sure you should admit to things like that?" He asked.

"Get me arrested," the boy shrugged, "or sign me up. You could use me in the Alliance. I could be great. But even a Cuban prison is better than one more day in Trinidad."

Silas sighed.

"Fuck it," he said, "not my problem."

"That's what I'm counting on," the boy replied, "no one is going to miss them anyway."

Silas slid down the form, filling in what he could. Medical history, family history, and educational history were blank squares.

"I taught myself to read and write," the boy scowled when Silas asked him. "That's all I need right?"

"For running around with a gun getting shot at you don't even need that," Silas replied, "are you going to keep your hair that ungodly shade?"

X- no, Shepard- ran his fingers through his filthy sheet of hair. There was a weird character to this kid, Silas decided. Maybe he wasn't as young as he had thought. His mannerisms and thoughtful silences were those of a man, a man who knew a thing or two about how the world really worked. He traced the scar on his chin with one finger.

"Yes," he decided, "as a reminder."

"Welcome to the Alliance, recruit," Silas spun the monitor around and handed Shepard a light pen. Arrows flashed on the screen where he needed to sign.

He took the pen and wrote in clear, if somewhat unwieldy hand. He didn't bother to read the terms of the contract at all, and ended his signature with a broad, bold x scrawled in sweeping orange lines.

"You still have to pass the physical, you know," Silas warned him. "The doc isn't going to accept heresay on that wealth of body hair."

Shepard laughed.

"It's okay," he grinned, "I'm pretty convincing."

When he got out of the office he took the print out they had given him and read the contract carefully, and then the instructions for reaching the Alliance boot camp in Spring Hill, Florida. As an Alliance recruit he could take a shuttle directly from Cuba to Spring Hill at the end of the week. He tucked the recruitment order into a secret pocket cut into his tattered jacket and scampered up the streets of Havana, pausing only to steal a credit chit out of a half drunk teenagers jacket pocket as he wobbled toward the recruitment centre yelling about the great hero he was going to be.

"My, my, my," a voice from the alleyway he had slept in last night crept out of the darkness gathered there, "and here I thought you didn't have the guts to really leave, X."

"That's not my name anymore," the boy snarled. He was down in a crouch in seconds, his hand reaching into his pocket for the shiv pushed into the lining of his jacket. "What are you doing here?"

"Just making sure our meal ticket doesn't let his independent streak ruin a good thing," another voice chimed in from behind him. A knife came under the hem of his jacket and pushed through his rags. He could feel it cold and sharp against his kidneys, pushing him toward the mouth of the alley. "Violently, if necessary."

Shepard had no choice. He let the blade guide him into the mouth of the alley. Cat was there, reclining on a garbage can with a knife in one hand. She was tracing lines of blood on the back of her hand as though there was no one else in the world, but Shepard knew that at a word from the man leaning against the opposite wall she would rip his throat out through his mouth.

Arturo Alvarez was a rakish young man, not a terribly long way past twenty with pinched, watery eyes set under a retreating hairline and over a ferocious aquiline nose. His mouth was small and crooked and cruel, his fingers quick and never far away from a razor blade. He had given Shepard the scar on his chin, and the one that cut into his eyebrow and itched when he got nervous. Right now it felt like it was trying to squirm its way out of his skin. And there were other, deeper scars, some under his clothes and others under his skin.

"X, why Havana?" Arturo asked him sadly. "Is this alley really so much more comfortable than the apartment in Trinidad I got for you?"

"You mean the cage you got me for ripping throats open?" Shepard asked, keeping his eye on Ismael behind him. Cat and Arturo were young, not as young as him but still young, with a lean, wolfish look to them. Ismael was twice as old and far more dangerous, with the eyes of a lizard, cold and flat and compassionless. "I'm not your pet."

"Don't be stupid, of course you are," Arturo flipped his hand as though batting Shepard's words from the air. "And if I can't have you no one can."

"I joined the Alliance," Shepard spat at the gang leaders shoes. "You're never going to make another cent off of me."

"Sure I will. If you've decided you don't want to fight I'll throw you in a pit with a couple varren and sell tickets to people who like seeing little boys getting ripped apart," Arturo grinned. "But I don't want to do that, X. I know you have so much more to offer." He reached for him.

"Don't touch me!" Shepard slapped his hand away, forgetting the blade resting beside his spine in a flash of white hot rage. "Don't ever touch me again!"

"Temper, temper," Arturo laughed. "You need to learn some gratitude. I can't see an ounce of thanks in you anywhere." The tall young man stepped back. "Ismael, remind our friend who he is. Carve his name in his forehead for him, so the world knows he's off limits."

Ismael's huge, leathery hand closed over Shepard's windpipe before he had a moment to think of what to do next. The huge man hauled him back, curling his arm around Shepard's throat until the boy was crushed flat against his massive chest. The knife came up, glittering in the dirty light filtering down from the gap in the rooftops overhead. Pigeons, fat and filthy and slow moved overhead as the blade slid closer. Cat was sitting up, the promise of fresh blood enough to draw her out of her casual mutilations.

He was going to carve an X on his forehead. Arturo had said it was his name, but it wasn't. Not anymore. Shepard felt something black and cold building in his chest, pushing his ribs out so he could gulp in a huge breath of air, preparing himself for what came next.

He didn't plan it, not really. He never did, and he never had to. One moment he was staring up at the descending blade in horror and the next his booted foot was coming down on Ismael's instep, protected only by a crappy off-brand sneaker. The big man's grip loosened and he grunted in pain for a second, which was all the time Shepard needed to slip his chin under his grasping fingers and sink his teeth into his flesh. He didn't hold back, and his mouth filled with the taste of the other man's blood as his teeth snapped shut on bone.

Ismael bellowed and threw Shepard away from him with all his strength. Shepard hung onto the hand he had captured, feeling the momentum of the toss pull at the roots of his teeth. The other man screamed and Shepard bit down harder, battling the shiv out of his jacket lining through a hole cut in the bottom of his pocket. When Ismael shook his hand again, violently, the boy let go but he took a mouthful of flesh and blood with him. He spat it back in Ismael's eyes as the man howled and clutched at his fingers which were suddenly spurting blood all down the

He knew what would come next. Cat flung herself away from the wall at him and he ducked under her widespread arms, both hands wrapped tight around the duct tape handle of his little shiv. He slid away from the razor sharp edge of her blade, still wet with her own blood, and stabbed her once. The blade slipped up, through the ribs and into the soft tissues of her organs. She screamed like her namesake, the sound of it blood curling and Shepard twisted, the knife spinning and tearing in the wound and hurled Cat off the blade into the newly recovered Ismael with all his strength.

The bigger man stumbled back and Shepard switched the shiv to one hand. As Ismael was pushing Cat away from him, the girl kicking and screaming as she clutched at the ragged wound haemorrhaging blood over her grasping fingers Shepard took a running leap, his knees pulled up close to his chest. They struck Ismael on the collar bone, jarring Shepard's joints and breaking one of the other man's clavicles with a sound like dry wood underfoot. Shepard brought the shiv down, thrusting it deep into one of those cold lizard eyes and tried to ride the momentum of him all the way down. Dead men did not fall with control, however, so Ismael went sprawling bonelessly and Shepard found himself thrown, his head striking concrete.

He lost a moment. When he blinked consciousness back into his eyes Cat was flying at him, fingers slick with blood but still finding the strength to clench, vise-like around his throat. She lifted him up and slammed him onto the ground, making his ears ring and his vision blur. Once, twice, three times, his head bouncing like a rubber ball, her screams filling his world, shutting out all sanity. Shepard twisted, the blood on her fingers giving him just enough leeway to manage it, and punched her in the stab wound he had just inflicted that was still splashing blood all over the two of them.

She reared back, her fingers curling into claws in the air in front of her and she screamed like a cat in a wood chipper, high and harsh and hair-curling. Shepard struggled to his feet, blinking blood and dizziness away, and kicked her in the side of the head. She went down, still screaming, and he brought his foot down on her temple, once, twice, three times. She was still and silent. The noise was all in his head.

He looked around. Arturo would still be there, somewhere. He would be standing there smug and confident, with his fists full of money and his face full of cruelty. He would have drugs, drink, promises, everything that it took to keep a scared, vulnerable, valuable teenager close and he would hold it out like it was a gift when all along it was really poison, ready to rot in the wounds. Shepard was ready for him.

He was nowhere to be seen.

For a moment Shepard didn't understand. He was bleeding from his ears, his mouth, his nose and a hundred minor scrapes and cuts. Arturo was gone. He had run away from his prize, his pet, his toy because he was afraid to try and take an easy shot while he was being beaten up by two older people. Shepard felt like laughing, but decided not to. Breathing was painful enough.

Cat's knife was on the ground beside her, but he ignored it. Instead he found Ismael's blade, free of incriminating blood, and tucked it into his jacket where his shiv had been. His shiv he wiped off with Ismael's shirt and left beside the dead couple. This was Havana, not Trinidad. In Trinidad the bodies would never have been found but that was unlikely, even in this bad neighbourhood. He reached up and grabbed the lower bars of the fire escape, pulling himself up with the wiry muscles hidden under his layers of rags and dirt. He had to keep moving. The concussion was bad enough to make every detail of the world slam into all the others every time he moved and he needed to stay awake.

He had a plane to catch after all. And when his feet had finally left the blood-stained soil of Cuba the boy named X would be less than dead, less than a memory. It would be as if he had never existed at all. There were a thousand others who could easily take his place.

Getting to the rooftops was slow going, his shoulder was swelling up as the opposite eye swelled closed, but he made it. The buildings were all built so close together it was child's play for him to go jumping and running across the hot tin, even in his injured state. The heat of the merciless sun on clay and tin mingled with the salt breeze coming off the ocean. He followed the breeze. It was soothing on his battered face.

The sun was going down by the time Shepard reached the water side. His head was still splitting, his vision swimming in and out of focus. It was going to be a long night, he should probably spend it down on the hotel strip where the neon and crowds would keep him awake. He still had that credit chit, maybe the guy he'd stolen it from had been too drunk to call in and cancel it. Maybe he hadn't even noticed it was missing yet. It was a good plan, and he'd turned himself toward the faint glow of the strip rising out of the shadows left by daylights retreat, but he paused for a moment.

Beyond the horizon was Florida, and Spring Hill, and his entire new future was unfolding like the hidden page of a book that had seemed very open and closed just a handful of days ago. He breathed salt air deep into his tortured lungs and stared out at the flaming curve of the ocean retreating back to Florida, to the promised land, to his future. The sun was kissing the horizon, throwing sheets of brilliant colour across the water and the bottom half of the sky, so vibrant over a sea so calm that it seemed difficult to tell where Earth ended and Heaven began.

He was concussed, hurting, the taste of blood was everywhere and he wasn't sure if he was really going to live out the night. But at that moment, god, Earth was so beautiful.


	2. The Infiltrator

The difference between great people and everyone else is that great people create their lives actively, while everyone else is created by their lives, passively waiting to see where life takes them next.

- Captain David Anderson

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><p>"So where is this wonder boy?" Anderson sounded bored, and a little angry, but Ingles knew better than to hold it against him. Anderson had been angry for months; about some shady Council business that was so far above his clearance level Ingles was pretty sure it would be treason to think too hard about what it might be.<p>

"Potential wonder boy," he replied, "and he's over there. It's his day off."

He indicated a grassy knoll at the corner of the training yard, where a group of young soldiers were lounging around, most of them joking and shoving each other or fighting quietly over the shade thrown by a couple meagre trees. Anderson squinted through the glare and opened his mouth as though he were about to ask which of them he was, but after a moment he just nodded and looked back at Ingles.

"He's got a stupid haircut," he said, in a voice that revealed nothing. "When did it become cool for kids to look like idiots?"

"Around the dawn of time," Major Ingles replied, cutting the air irritably with the flat of his hand. "That's not the point. What do you think?"

"From here?" Anderson raised an eyebrow.

"You knew who it was. That says something."

"Maybe. Maybe it says more about your other students," Anderson squinted back across the tarmac, picking out what details he could.

While his companions joked and sweated, enjoying their temporary reprieve from training under the sweltering sun, Shepard was sitting still and watching. It wasn't that he had excluded himself, he was very much a part of the group. Occasionally he would even join in the horse play, shove someone or crack some joke that made his companions laugh and slap him on the back. Everyone reacted to him, even the interlopers who just rolled their eyes when they thought he wasn't looking. When he stood up and waved goodbye the group dissolved as though some plug had been pulled somewhere.

Shepard circled the training yard a couple times, looking casual enough, but with definite purpose in his movements for anyone paying enough attention to follow them. After a couple minutes of watching him, Anderson turned back to Ingles.

"Who's the other kid? The one giving orders down there?" He stabbed his fingers in the direction of a rippling specimen of a soldier, all over-blown muscles and testosterone who was standing in the middle of a drilling unit trumpeting like a stallion in heat. It was hard to tell exactly, with the two of them on opposite ends of the field, but he was at least twice the size of the red haired boy.

"That's Emery Washington," Ingles replied. "He's got everything Shepard needs and none of what he's got."

"Meaning?"

"He's confident. He's decided he wants to be an officer and he's dedicated himself to being squad leader for this quarter's potential graduates. But leadership skills? Personality? A brain?" Ingles shook his head. "No such luck."

"And he gives Shepard a hard time?"

"Constantly. Shepard is a bit of a runt, but he's got a mouth you have to hear to believe," Ingles shook his head. "Washington's smacked him around a bit, nothing serious of course, but whenever the two of them come up against each other in the yard Shepard makes him look like the worst kind of a fool."

"So what's Shepard planning?"

"I- what do you mean?" Ingles stepped up to the window and squinted down at the yard. Shepard was easy enough to identify with his bright crimson hair, and he was most definitely watching the more sombre looking Emery Washington. It was hard to tell from this distance, but it looked like he was grinning in a very disconcerting way.

"You mean you don't know?" Anderson laughed. "You can't expect to motivate this brat if you wait until he brings this place down around your ears to pay attention to him."

"Okay, I've put up with your bad attitude for three months now David," Ingles scowled, "but this isn't funny."

"No, it's not."

"How do you know he's planning something?"

"Take a look at that smile," Anderson was grinning himself, for the first time in a long while. "I certainly can't come up with an innocent thought that could have spawned it."

Shepard did look a little sinister, standing there, grinning from ear to ear as he watched Washington spit strings of jumbled orders. The recruits he had managed to get together milled around him in confusion, not sure if they were supposed to be working in tandem or splitting into platoons. After another long moment Shepard turned and stalked away toward the dorms, typing feverishly on his omnitool.

"Now you've got me worried," Ingles sighed, rubbing at his forehead. The glare of the sun on the tarmac was giving him a wicked headache.

"If it's just started now you must be the worst soldier in the world," Anderson laughed, "I don't even remember the last time I had some peace of mind. Now let's have a drink. You can tell me more about this boy you want me to fix for you."

"He reminds me a lot of you, actually," Ingles began as they retreated into the cooler, darker reaches of his office. He found his flask in the top drawer of his desk and mostly clean glasses on the shelf. "You remember what I said about him having a big mouth?"

"I can't believe this, Washington," Ingles shook his head as he led the swollen-eyed, confused young soldier toward the holding cells. "I really expected better of you. This qualifies as treason in a dozen different ways. What were you thinking?"

"I don't understand," Washington moaned. He wasn't even bothering to fight the two sergeants that were hauling him down the corridor after the major. "What did I do?"

"Don't be cute," Ingles scowled, "it doesn't become you. I thought it was your bullying that would get you into trouble but this is just too much."

Above the narrow corridors, perched on the maintenance catwalks with his omnitool glowing, the real culprit watched the scene unfold with relish. Unlike the unfortunate Emery Washington he knew exactly who had hacked the schools personnel files and rummaged through a number of his greatest competitors records to make them seem just a little less competent, a little more prone to lapses in judgement, and then accessed Washington's files and built them up until he appeared to be the most stellar, gleaming, prosaic example of a soldier the school had ever seen. It had been a clumsy job really, all paths leading straight back to the bewildered soldier's net address if one could overcome just a few clumsy, misleading firewalls. It was a gutsy, no holds barred, and yet completely ineffective tactic. It had Washington's big, awkward signature all over it.

"Enjoying the show?" Anderson asked, as he appeared behind the boy who had been laughing silently with such exuberance that he was biting down on his knuckles to keep it controlled. Below them, Washington continued to moan and rock with confusion, tears slipping down his face.

Shepard let out a bark of laughter too strong to conceal properly, though he managed to twist it into an unconvincing half-cough, before he turned around and faced the other man. He had composed his face into a mask of polite confusion but his eyes, his ferociously blue eyes, were sharp and wary and undeniably mocking.

"Sir?" He asked politely, pushing himself to his feet and sketching a quick but adequate salute. "I don't understand."

"I don't think that's ever been true, of anything in your life Recruit Shepard," Anderson replied, his eyes going hard. "We're going to have a conversation now, and it'll go much better for you if you don't try to bullshit me. I'm not like these other assholes. Consider me bullshit proof."

The boy didn't say anything. He didn't need to, there was arrogance written over every line of his young face. Anderson took a closer look at him, openly studying him and evaluating him and hid his smile when he saw the predictable touch of anger it brought to his features. Kids like this, who were used to being smarter than everyone else, hated it when they met someone who wasn't willing to accept their greatness as fact.

"If you're eighteen," Anderson said after a long moment, "I'm the queen of France."

"Your Majesty!" The boy sunk into a massive, exaggerated bow. "I didn't recognize you without the powdered wig!"

Anderson couldn't help it, he laughed, and then scowled as he realized it had just shifted the dynamic of their conversation. He wasn't used to kids like this. Most recruits at this age, or whatever age this kid really was for that matter, couldn't be trusted to tell their ass from their elbow. He grabbed the railing of the cat walk and sat down, dangling his legs over the edge. Shepard watched him warily, but sank down into a similar seat beside him after a moment.

"So," Anderson began carefully, "Washington."

"Washington is a piece of shit," Shepard cut him off vehemently, "and he deserves everything he gets."

"Washington is an able recruit," Anderson replied sternly, "you think that just because he's not as good as you he's no good at all. That's a dangerous attitude to take in any situation, but especially in the military."

"I'm not stupid," Shepard sniffed, "I know that people have different skills. Washington is dangerous though, because HE doesn't realize that. He thinks he's the best at everything no matter how poorly he does, and he was going to be squad leader because he's a bully not because he's any damn good at anything."

"You don't really expect me to believe you give a shit who the squad leader is do you?" Anderson asked. "I'm bullshit proof, remember. If you gave a damn you would be putting all the work you put into making sure he didn't get it into making sure you did."

"I don't give a damn," Shepard agreed, "except when it affects me."

"So you were afraid of what would happen if he got it? That he'd give you an even harder time of it?"

Shepard pursed his lips and blew a raspberry, a reaction that made him look his years all the more strongly. His arms were draped loosely over the chest-high safety bar, his legs dangling. He appeared to be in the middle of a growth spurt, an inch and a half of gangly limbs overshot each of his cuffs as he hung there.

"I'm not afraid of him," the boy drawled, "but an inept squad leader is all it would take to get me stuck in basic for another six months."

"Ah yes, your meteoric rise to the top ranking student in school," Anderson replied, "I'd almost forgotten about that. You did a much better job of hiding your cyber-tracks there. Then again, you wanted Washington to get caught didn't you?"

"I didn't do anything to my stats!" Shepard snapped, his eyes flashing. It was the first genuine emotion he had put forth so far, Anderson could see a hot flush spread up his neck as the boy turned to look at him. "I EARNED my place on the boards, because I AM the best, and I-"

He shut his mouth rapidly, scowling as he realized what he'd almost confessed to.

"And you weren't about to let Washington ruin it for you," Anderson nodded. "Okay, I get that."

"Okay?" Shepard asked, raising an eyebrow. "You aren't much of a soldier."

"I've heard that a lot in the last few months," Anderson said darkly. "In any case, I don't think you're going to make much of one either. At least not the way you're going."

"Probably not," Shepard replied, sounding unaccountably glum about it. "Smart men don't make very good one's do they?"

"Not the really smart ones, no."

They sat in silence for a while. Anderson went over what he'd learned about the boy again, from his dubious credentials to the fact that he'd inhaled every class he'd taken at Basic over the last year. The Alliance made basic academic classes available over computer terminals for their recruits 'self-directed ambitions' and they were accessed and completed by about 0.8% of recruits. Shepard had taken all of them, rocketing himself from a street kid without a drop of formal education to an A-level highschool graduate in a little over eight months.

"So you're smart," he said after a moment. "Really smart. What did your IQ test out at?"

"IQ tests are garbage," Shepard sneered, "but I tested out at 165."

"So you're a genius," Anderson corrected himself. He ignored Shepard's self-depreciating laughter and barreled on. "It's not like the Alliance doesn't allow for genius. You could-"

"I don't want to ride a desk," Shepard interrupted with a scowl. "I've seen your Alliance bureaucrats, and that's not me."

"Right. So brains, guts, gun-skills," Anderson ticked them off on his fingers, "how's your hand-to-hand?"

Shepard's face was bleak and remote.

"It's good enough," he said flatly.

"Right. Well, I only see one option for you, Shepard," Anderson pulled himself to his feet and looked down at the boy. "It's time to grow up and get serious. You're going to the Tech Academy."

Shepard looked up at him blankly.

"You want me to be an engineer?" He asked, blinking. "No way. I'm not going to hunch in the background while other people tackle the frontlines."

"There's a new program coming in," Anderson extended a hand to him, "not really public knowledge yet. Have you heard of the Infiltrators?"

"That engineering unit that got ambushed by Batarian pirates?" Shepard took the offered hand and let Anderson haul him to his feet. "Who hasn't heard of them? A bunch of egg heads getting the one-up over a horde of screamers, it's a true Alliance parable."

Anderson ignored the sarcasm.

"Well, they've put together a special program at Calypso Base. I think you'd qualify."

"Jupiter?" That piqued his interest. Like most Earthborn the idea of space still held some romance and mystery for him. "I'd like to see Jupiter."

"Good. I should warn you though, there's no room for hanging out on the back-burner at the Tech Academy. You're going to have academics and physical training, work detail, officer training-"

"Officer training?" Shepard rubbed at his chemical red hair. "I don't..."

"You can't tell me that after all this, being an officer is what scares you," Anderson scowled. "Don't tell me I've been wasting my time with you."

"It's just," Shepard shrugged, "who's going to take orders from me?"

"Someone smart," Anderson replied, "who wants to stay alive. Now are you coming with me, or are you going to let fear get in your way?"

Shepard scowled.

"I'm not afraid."

"Good. The new semester at the Academy begins at the end of the month."

"What about Basic?" Shepard asked. "The semester here doesn't end until June."

"You've been graduated," Anderson produced the papers from his jacket pocket, "Major Ingles already signed it, so you could focus on the courses you'll need to get up to speed for the classes at Calypso."

"Classes? It's two weeks until the end of the month!"

"So work hard," Anderson shrugged, "or go home. If you want to be something, you're going to have to work for it. You can't expect life to hand you greatness."

Shepard sighed.

"If you put it that way," he shrugged, "it's not really a choice at all."

"Good boy," Anderson clapped him on the shoulder, "go get your shit. I'll take you to Calypso myself."

"Okay," Shepard began to turn, then he hesitated and turned back. "What's going to happen to Washington?"

"Emery Washington will be discharged from service but probably not tried for treason," Anderson replied, watching the boys face carefully.

Shepard seemed to think about it for a moment before he locked eyes with Anderson again.

"He really is a piece of shit," he said quietly, "and he's dangerous. I don't feel bad about... about him getting kicked out. If he'd ever received a real command he would have gotten a lot of people killed."

"I don't know why you're telling me this," Anderson broke eye contact and turned his back on the boy. "And you had nothing to do with it, right?"

"Right."

He listened to the boys footsteps retreating, waiting until he was alone to lean heavily against the hand rail and cover his eyes with his hand. What was the world coming to when kids like that looked to bitter old men like him for guidance? What was it coming to when bitter old men like him provided it?

The kid was... the kid was special though. There was greatness on the cusp of being born in him, and it radiated through every pore. It was what had those kids gathered around him on the lawn, it was what had motivated Washington to attack him, it was what had Anderson up here, thinking about him and grinning like a maniac when he imagined what he would do at Tech Academy. He ran the name over in his mind. Trinidad Shepard.

He hoped this wasn't the last time he saw him.


	3. White Light

You must have chaos within you to give birth to a dancing star.

- Consort Sha'ira

* * *

><p>"Don't you ever get tired of proving me right?" Shepard asked, stepping back from the console and instinctively wiping his gloved hands on the seat of his environment suit. He took a moment to admire his handiwork before snapping the metal door closed over the circuitry he had been dissecting and stepping back. Jupiter curved across the darkness of space above him as he picked his slow, careful way across the surface of Calypso station. The great red storm stood out like a blood stain, raging silently overhead.<p>

"I've been waiting for the 'I told you so' since last night," Ramirez replied. It was hard to tell if the other student was hung over or just her regular level of surly over the fractured, buzzing comm. signal. "Get it out of your system, I want to go see if they've posted graduate assignments."

"I told you not to set that garbage chute on fire," Shepard said, grinning as he flicked off his mag boots and pushed away from the surface of the moon. The gravity wasn't completely null, but it was light as a kiss, and he sailed through the air toward the airlock. He flashed a thumbs up at the guy in the study hall who happened to be looking out its third storey window when he floated past. "I looked you straight in the eye and I said 'Ramirez, don't light the garbage chute on fire. I know it seems like a good idea to the vodka right now, but it will get us three and a half weeks of contact maintenance.' Those were my exact words."

"I remember," Ramirez said lightly, "you should have tried harder to stop me."

"You threatened to cut me with a piece of glass," Shepard reminded her.

"As if I would," Ramirez sniffed.

"The last time you threatened to cut me with a piece of glass, you cut me with a piece of glass," Shepard reminded her again.

"Oh right! Well you can't blame me for that, we were drinking fire wine that night."

"Sorry I brought it up," Shepard pushed up again, launching himself directly up, past the airlock and activating his mag boots as he neared the correct wall. His boots thudded firmly into place, anchoring him sideways on the surface of the processor wing wall. He began climbing, the gravity so slight there was barely any difference compared to walking right way up. "It's just that I still have the scar."

"I debugged your programs for two and a half weeks to make up for it, didn't I?"

"Yeah, eighteen days. One for each stitch."

"Psh. Whatever."

"Anyway, my point is we got exactly three and a half weeks of contact maintenance for doing exactly what I told you not to do. I'm just wondering if you learned anything."

"I have a sneaking suspicion you're about to try and teach me whether I learned something or not. Do your worst, eight months in this craphole hasn't managed to teach me a damn thing."

"The lesson is I'm always right."

"It's not like you weren't drunk too."

"This applies even more when I'm drunk, and even more than that when BOTH of us are drunk. I should just strap a muzzle on you when we go out, it would be less weird and embarrassing."

Shepard reached the ceiling of the processor wing and swung up right in orientation to Calypso again. Ramirez looked up from where she was closing up her own panels, nothing but a stripe of dark skin and night black eyes showing through the visor of her helmet. She flipped him the finger before standing up and hammering the corners of the panels into place with the heel of her boot.

"I don't think you're supposed to do it that way," Shepard commented when she paused and nudged one dented corner with the toe of her boot.

"Whatever, let's go. I want to make sure they posted us on opposite ends of the galaxy like I asked," she picked up her tool kit and started heading toward the airlock. After a moment, he followed her.

"You know they probably posted us at some piss-water south of nowhere, right?" He asked as the doors slid closed behind them and Ramirez punched anxiously at the console. "It's not like knowing the name of it is going to make the assignment any less mind numbing. And then we're going to go and get shit faced and piss and moan even though we could have easily done better if we'd just studied instead of drinking and defacing school property every free day."

"What's your point?"

"If we start drinking before we check, that'll make it a little less mind numbing," Shepard pointed out.

"No, I want to know," she pulled her helmet off and jutted her chin out in that stubborn way she had. "I want to know if I'm stationed near my family."

"Ugh, you civilians and your familial relationships," Shepard sighed in mock exasperation. "Let's go then. But stay away from the garbage chutes."

"No promises," Ramirez grinned.

Shepard showered and changed back into the black and orange jumpsuit with the tech academy logo stitched on the breast with a smile on his face. Unlike the other guys in the locker room at the moment, he didn't have a care in the world. In fact, he was elated. The Infiltrator pilot program had estimated a full three years of training before first assignments were given out. Shepard, and the rest of his tiny pool of test students, had completed it in one. Slightly less than one, actually. He didn't care where they dumped his troublesome commission, he had already accepted he wasn't going to be doing anything important.

Instead of thinking about it as he strolled toward the cafeteria, where the assignments were being displayed, he thought about the new firewalls that were being thrown up over important accounts lately, his fingers itching to pull up the data and start poking at it again. There were things he wanted to know in those accounts.

"I've been assigned to the Minerva garrison!" Ramirez interrupted his train of thought by launching herself into his arms.

Shepard blinked, adrenaline flooding him at the surprise contact and took a moment to repress the instinct, cultivated over years on the street, to fall on her in a wild fury of teeth and elbows. Minerva was her home planet, a piss-water south of nowhere on the safer side of the human settlement. Of course she was happy. Shepard assembled the pieces of a smile on his face.

"Hey, that's great," he jostled her around as she grinned at him, "think of all the cows you'll save from invading space coyotes."

She punched him, hard.

"Go check!" She insisted, shoving him toward the displays. "I want to make fun of you, too."

"Alright, drum roll?" He typed in his name as Ramirez drummed on a nearby table, jostling calmer students lunch trays and cutlery until one of them pushed her away. "Corporal Trinidad Shepard of... Elysium."

"Elysium? Seriously?" Ramirez whistled. "Sweet. Boring but high-class. You'll fit right in."

"I'm glad you're enjoying my misery," Shepard shot back, fighting through his dismay to get the words out. Elysium was the worst possible option, nestled in the centre of a complex network of AA guns and mech security, it was the kind of job where soldiers became tech support. The thought of it put a pit in the bottom of Shepard's stomach.

"It's not that bad."

"It's pretty bad," Shepard shook his head. "Fuck damn. Who did I piss off?"

"I don't want to claim any inside knowledge here, but may I remind you that you hacked into the Major's net identity and sent out a bunch of randy emails under his name?"

"They never found out who did that," Shepard sniffed.

"Really? You creamed yourself so hard when you got away with it, I was sure it would leave DNA evidence on the data. Also, everyone knows it was you. People who don't even know who you are know it was you."

Shepard sighed.

"Let's go get shit faced," he suggested. He just wanted to forget about Elysium, purge the very knowledge of it, and nothing could do that for him better than a bottle of whiskey.

"Now you're talking. Don't worry about it Shep, it's not like either of us were ever going to amount to anything anyway.

* * *

><p>"Shepard, what should we do?"<p>

It was funny the way the human mind worked. It had only been a moment since the panic began, but that memory had come smashing up into the middle of his concentration in just a second and a half. He shook Ramirez's voice from his ears and turned to look at his current companion. Corporal Calhoun was white as a sheet, an unfortunate condition in that it made his freckles and carroty hair all the more distinctive. Behind him Shepard could watch the first of the light pirate frigates touch down on the city limits, splitting open like a rotten fruit to flood Elysium with hostile foot units.

"Call the rest of the squad. Shoreleave is cancelled."

"Right," Calhoun lit his omnitool as Shepard zipped up his jacket again, and fished his rumpled cap out of his pocket. The uniform was a pain nine times out of ten, but it had one real advantage. Civilians gathered around it like moths to a flame at times like these.

"This is an order for all citizens of Elysium," he pulled himself onto a bench so he was at least mostly visible to the mob beginning to form in the middle of the street. Men and women turned their faces up to look at him. A sea of wild, frightened eyes spread around him. "Return to your homes immediately. Lock your doors, jam your systems, arm yourselves but no matter what STAY INSIDE. They own the streets now. It's up the Alliance to get them back."

"The rest of the squad has converged on the southern bridge access," Calhoun reported. He looked around as the crowd began to disperse and then up at Shepard again. "I want to know how you do that."

"Do what?" Shepard asked as he climbed down and pulled up a map of the surrounding streets on his omnitool for inspection.

"Just trick people into thinking they should do what you say," Calhoun grinned crookedly. "Lieutenant." He stuck the title on the end for the sake of mockery, not courtesy.

"Let's head to the bridge," Shepard decided. "There's a garrison office where we can supply before heading across."

"Orders are to converge on bridges and lock in positions," Calhoun reported. Shepard was notorious for switching off the incoming mail function on his omnitool. "They want to confine the invasion to one section of the city and fight it out gradually."

"Oh really?" Shepard's eyes flashed. "I wonder what influenced that decision? Couldn't be that the ships just touched down in the poorest quarter of the city, could it?"

Calhoun stared up, over the roof tops, to where small ships were still sliding through the atmosphere. Rockets tore through the clear summer air and exploded in gouts of orange flame. Smoke began to rise, and thicken, until it hung over the city in an oily cloud.

"Orders-" He began again.

"Fuck orders," Shepard spat. "I'm making an executive decision. We're going to round up the rest of the squad and hammer through those streets to the garrison on that side of the bridges. I assume that they've locked themselves down?"

"Of course. But, Shepard are you sure-?"

"I'm sure," Shepard cut him off, brandishing a finger in the older soldier's face. "There are civilians on that side of the bridge too, Calhoun. Are you going to sit ten feet away and not protect them because some fat guy with a couple bureaucratic medals on his tit, some asshole who's not even standing on this fucking planet, has decided that they aren't important enough to help?"

Calhoun seemed to struggle for a moment, but it was a short moment.

"No sir, Lieutenant."

"Then radio the squad and tell them to get ready for us. I want insular comm. after that, no public channels. We're going dark."

"They kick people out of the Alliance for doing shit like this," Calhoun reminded him as they took off, jogging toward the bridges. The street was clearing as people spread his order, and they barely had to fight their way forward at all.

"They give people medals for doing shit like this too," Shepard shot back. "As far as I can tell, all we have to do is get absolutely everything right and be totally awesome."

"Alright, great," Calhoun muttered, "no pressure then."

It was surprisingly easy after that.

Part of that was his squad. A few choice words, an inspiring speech, and they would have followed him to the moon without space suits. Convincing them to defy direct orders from the brass and throw themselves into hell was almost too easy. They were eager to get across the bridge.

On the other side, he had expected it to be harder. The amount of ships touching down had seemed astronomical, the troop size difficult to predict but undeniably massive. But they weren't military and most of them didn't know each other that well. They were a violent, chaotic rabble more interested in mayhem than anything else. Cross fires and sniper pits eliminated swaths of useless cock-ups before he even needed to touch the radio and summon the vanguards in.

So it was easy, because of that.

And also, because of something else.

He didn't know where it had come from. Maybe it had always been there, somewhere beside the darkness that usually overcame him in a fight. He could be irreverent, lazy, rebellious, outright silly at times, when he thought it was more interesting than the alternatives, but there had always been something deeper than that. Something smooth and cool as dry steel and black as night that stayed down deep inside him and came up for air and blood whenever it was available.

That darkness had kept him alive for years, until he couldn't tell it apart from the rest of him. He had thought that was always who he was going to be, under all the laughing layers he had built to hide it he was always X, always the dirty, starving streetling that would cut a man open for half a mouthful of water and a hit.

But for once, wading through blood on the streets of Elysium he felt himself surge forward instead of falling back into darkness.

"They're calling for you," the pretty young woman who had taken him through the rehearsal for the ceremony gave him a small push and he looked up, sunlight pouring in from the stage above. He began to climb the stairs, cool darkness burnt away as he rose into the heat of a Caribbean summer. He wished they hadn't insisted on having the ceremony in Cuba.

He rose, like he had on Elysium. Instead of retreating, he pushed forward, reached out, pulled his squad around him. They had gone smashing through the teeth of a pirate invasion. Now he emerged on a broad stage before an overflowing stadium and a wave of noise more powerful than anything they had heard in battle broke over him. His squad was already seated, their uniforms heavy with pieces of metal. They grinned at him as he blinked in the onslaught of noise and light.

The President was waiting.

"Lieutenant Trinidad Shepard symbolizes everything that is truly great about humanity," he said as Shepard approached. He had one of the flat, slender boxes medals came in on hand and his arms were open in his direction, but the President had eyes only for the crowd. Shepard came up and took his hand firmly, shaking it as the other man continued to beam at the cheering spectators.

"His bravery, determination and will to succeed is what made the victory at Elysium possible."

The sensation was strange, being so important, being adored, respected for all the things that had made senior officers despise him for the past two and a half years. Maybe it wasn't that senior officers were stupid, it just didn't matter how smart you were until you did something worthwhile. Such a simple revelation, he couldn't imagine why it had taken so long to sink in. He should have listened to Anderson and grown up a long time ago.

"I am proud to award him with the Star of Terra. This medal is a great reward, but more importantly it is a continuing mission," he was pinning it to his chest. Three years ago he had crawled across the rooftops of Havana dressed in rags and bruises and now the President of Earth was pinning a medal on his chest. The world was a surprising place.

"As I present this to you, I also have new orders for you, Lieutenant. Continue on into the universe and continue to show our new allies exactly what it means to be human."

His chest felt like it was full of light. He could feel his heart vibrating for a moment, and then he realized that it was the noise, climbing, rising like a tidal wave and sweeping over him. Gradually it took form and became a chant, rising higher, and higher, as men and women beyond the walls clued in and took it up. It shook the centre of his chest, the stage under his booted feet, it seemed to shake the sky and the soil under foot. His name. Just his name, over and over again.

Shepard, Shepard, Shepard.

Who was X? There was no X. He didn't have to be that boy anymore.

He could be this instead. He could be Shepard.

Shepard raised his hand to them, half a wave, half the solemn salute that marked the swearing of a vow. The crowd waved like a living thing and grew louder. He could feel the President's hand on his shoulder, jostling him, hear a voice in his ear that was calling him a hero. He could feel the weight of the medal pulling on the front of his uniform, the heat of the sun on his skin, even something strangely hot and wet gathering in the corners of his eyes. Only one thing mattered though. He closed his eyes and let it wash over him, changing him, burning away the darkness until there was nothing but white light.

Shepard, Shepard, Shepard.


	4. First Impressions

The love that starts slowly is the sweetest love, the kind that unfurls itself like a flower under the moon, the kind that burns deep and white at its core, the kind that moves mountains, parts oceans, snuffs out stars. Love that starts slowly is the strongest love, the kind that goes through darkness and emerges pure, and whole, and burns forever though once it was a fleeting spark.

- Larana Nirine, Last Poet of Rakana

* * *

><p>"Have you heard about Athena, L.T?" Richard straightened his cap fastidiously, double checking himself in the mirror polish of the new Mako. His uniform was perfectly appointed; all the cuffs folded down so a drill sergeant could measure them with a ruler and find no complaints. He made Kaidan feel almost slovenly by comparison.<p>

"No," Kaidan replied, going over his own uniform to get himself more in order. He didn't want to make a sloppy first impression on the senior officers today, but the aftermath of yesterday's migraine made him feel like he'd been up to all hours drinking with the rest of the crew. He rubbed thick stubble across his jaw.

"A group of Red Sand dealers tried to take over the Athena eezo mine on the fringes of Alliance space. Shepard, the new XO, he shut them down," Jenkins grinned with a hint of mania, "three hundred mercs against thirty marines, and Shepard had no heavy soldiers, but went through them like BAM!" He punched the air. "No friendly casualties, he even saved all the civilians. They're calling it the second Elysium on the vids."

"They call everything the second Elysium on the vids," Kaidan replied.

"But seriously, ten times the odds and it didn't even matter!" Jenkins was still grinning wildly, charged with excited energy. "Shepard goes where the real action is."

"Can't argue with that," Kaidan agreed. "And it sounds like he knows how to handle it."

"My last post was a garrison in the middle of the human settlement zone," Jenkins rolled his eyes. "I didn't fire a round outside of target practise the entire time I was there."

"When the colonies are safe like that it means the Alliance is doing their job," Kaidan replied, raising an eyebrow at the over eager soldier.

Jenkins nodded.

"Right, for sure. But, y'know, it's boring as all hell L.T."

"Alright, let's form up ladies," a sharp, impressively loud voice cut the idle chatter of the shuttle deck. Kaidan turned and caught a flash of crimson as the speaker climbed the short ramp up from the hangar where they were currently docked and headed toward them.

He didn't need to be told who it was. If the Alliance had celebrities, Commander Shepard would be A-list. No one got a Star of Terra barely one year into service without becoming something of a legend among his peers. And the red hair was kind of distinctive.

"Let's get a look at you." Shepard flashed a grin at them all.

Close up Shepard was... not what Kaidan had expected. He was dressed in full combat armour, the N7 stamp like a splash of blood on the charcoal steel breastplate. It fit him like a second skin, and every inch of it was immaculate, polished as bright as Jenkin's boots. His face was lean, clean-shaven and touched with scars. But he was only average height, and while he might have the scars of an older man his grin was still boyish, his features smooth, unmarked by time. He looked young, much younger than he did in the vids. He had the bluest eyes Kaidan had ever seen, like the deepest part of a summer sky.

They formed up. Shepard stood with his arms across his chest, watching them get into lines. He didn't look impressed when they finally touched their heels together and went still.

"Some of you I've served with before, some of you I've never met," his eyes swept up and down the columns of soldiers. He paused in front of Private Wong and gave the crooked cuffs of his shirt sleeves a critical look. "But I'll say this once, for everyone. Captain Anderson demands nothing but the best from his crew, serving under him means being perfect and serving under me means being better than that. So you've got five minutes before he shows up to make yourselves presentable and anyone who gets so much as lingering eye contact from the captain is going to be on latrine duty while the rest of us are posing for the vids."

He flicked a dismissal at them. Kaidan went over himself again, straightening seams and checking his zippers. He straightened his cuffs, and looked up to find Shepard standing right in front of him. His blue eyes lingered on his collar, which Kaidan tugged at automatically, straightening it.

"You're Lieutenant Alenko?" He asked. Up close his eyes were even more remarkable, Kaidan actually entertained the idea that Shepard might be wearing colour contacts. He nodded, and was surprised when Shepard offered him a hand rather than a salute. He took it.

"Trinidad Shepard," he said, as though Kaidan could have mistaken him for someone else. "I'm pleased to meet you. I reviewed your service history, and I'm impressed."

"I don't know what I could have done that would impress you, commander," Kaidan admitted. "I just heard about what happened on Athena. Good work."

"Thanks," Shepard flashed teeth in one of the cockiest grins Kaidan had ever seen. "But don't sell yourself short Lieutenant, that doesn't impress me. I like my officers competent," He cocked an eyebrow, sleek and black rather than red like his hair. "Your service history gave me the impression you were competent. Is that accurate, do you think?"

Kaidan didn't think Shepard was making fun of him, not really. But he wasn't being nice either. There was something inherently mocking about him, like everything going on at the moment was some kind of joke that only he was in on. It was a feeling Kaidan had gotten from people before, and they weren't the kind of people he liked.

"I can do my job, sir," he replied, keeping his voice studiously mild.

"Good man, I'm glad to hear it" Shepard grinned, with warmth this time, and slapped Kaidan on the shoulder like they were friends already. He glanced up and down the reforming lines and stepped back with a nod as his dismissal. Kaidan stared at his back as he walked away, taking his place at the other end of the column. His posture was perfect, and when Captain Anderson arrived with the other senior officers a few moments later his salute was the kind drill sergeants fantasized about.

"Commander Shepard," Anderson summoned him forward with a wave of his hand. Shepard didn't look mocking when he spoke to Captain Anderson, not even a little bit. His face was still and serious as stone, his whole attention focused on what the other man was saying. The captain took a long look at the assembled soldiers.

"What do you think commander?" He asked. "Can you do something with them?"

"They're Alliance," Shepard replied with a hint of his grin and an easy shrug, "I can do anything with them."

Clever, thought Kaidan. Jenkins was beaming beside him like Shepard had just leaped across the shuttle bay to directly high five him.

"Hopefully you won't have to find out just yet," Anderson replied, but he was smiling too. After that it was introductions, and then a brief and suspiciously vague outline of the ships maiden voyage. It all sounded simple enough.

Kaidan caught himself watching the commander instead of the captain at one point. Shepard was looking thoughtful, not focusing on the specifics of Anderson's speech anymore than Kaidan was. He didn't look like a war hero. That red hair was really ridiculous, it made him look younger than he was and it was out of place on a career man like Shepard. And that grin! It made his hackles rise the more he thought about it.

As though sensing something Shepard's eyes focused on him, Kaidan felt them settle on him with a shock like static electricity. He stiffened involuntarily, but resisted the urge to look away immediately, with guilt. Doing something like that would give Shepard all the power, and no doubt summon up that galling grin. Instead he let his gaze linger, thoughtful, neutral but undeniably appraising, as though he wasn't sure whether he was impressed or not.

Shepard smiled. It wasn't the grin that made Kaidan's head throb, it was instead an unreadable mix of emotions. It said many things in just a few moments of eye contact. It made it very clear that Shepard had all the power. He had read Kaidan like a book, known exactly what he was doing, but his smile was neither angry, nor resentful, nor arrogant. It was the smile of a man who knows he is being appraised and has absolute, unwavering confidence that he is up to standard.

Kaidan couldn't help it. He was impressed.

And that brought forth the grin.

He clenched his jaw and broke eye contact, looking at the captain again, and after a moment he felt Shepard's eyes leave him. They filed out without looking at each other.

* * *

><p>"If I admit it, will you never bring it up again?" Kaidan asked, standing across the table from Shepard with his meal tray. Getting zapped by alien technology apparently wasn't big news in Commander Shepard's day, because just hours after waking up he was sitting down to a meal of hot rations like it was actual food or something.<p>

Shepard looked up, and Kaidan saw genuine confusion in his eyes. It was hard to tell with him, sometimes, since he spent so much of every conversation pretending to be shocked, or confused, or taken aback, and then turning everything over and making it into a joke. At the moment though, he appeared to be quite serious.

He swallowed.

"Does this ship not have a chaplain?" He asked, reaching for his water. "Taking confession wasn't one of the specialization classes I took during my command curriculum."

"It's not confession, it's just... coming to terms."

"Alright, shoot. And sit."

Kaidan sat, setting his tray down and tearing open the first of his vacuum sealed packets, neatly labeled red beans and rice. Something with the consistency of oatmeal and a mess of degraded brown lumps spilled onto his tray with a wet, unappetizing noise. He watched Shepard hack at his chicken fried steak, prying a manageable chunk off one side and stabbing vainly at it with the blunted nibs of his fork.

"You lived up to your hype today, Shepard."

Shepard paused in his attempt to feed himself and looked up. His blue eyes were... cautious.

"Did I? I lost the beacon."

"Hey, we walked in there completely unprepared. I don't think anyone else I've ever met could have done what you did, deactivating the bombs and saving the colony."

"I lost Jenkins."

There was a moment of silence. Shepard resumed stabbing listlessly at his steak, not really trying to eat anymore.

"He was a good soldier. And so are you, the best I've ever seen. To be honest, I always thought Elysium was just... you know. Military reporting. There was so much of it in that war, with the Alliance trying to prove it could fight its own battles without going to the Council for help. People said..." He trailed off, not sure if he was pushing the boundaries of their conversation.

"They said I should have been court marshalled," Shepard supplied helpfully.

Kaidan laughed.

"I almost was. I just happen to be an expert bullshitter. That wasn't the first dishonourable discharge I talked my way out of."

"Saving ten thousand lives probably helped."

"That is military reporting. It was, like, seven. Tops." He grinned, not the mocking blade he'd been wearing in the shuttle bay, something more natural, even conspiratory.

Kaidan decided with sudden force that he liked Commander Shepard, cocky grins and all. He picked at his soupy entree as Shepard stabbed his steak with his knife and chewed it with determination.

"Military rations," he sighed and shook his head some time later, when he'd finally managed to swallow.

"I know," Kaidan sighed as well. "Next time we're on the Citadel I'm going to spend half my leave at Zakera Cafe."

Shepard laughed, and for Kaidan that was when it all really began.


	5. Trust Issues

A/N: I slightly altered the altercation between Shepard and Finch outside Chora's den. I felt that my Shepard's more detailed history with the Tenth Street Reds and Arturo Alvarez warranted a more extreme emotional reaction than a little shoving. I'm trying to keep as close to the canon with events and conversations, but it's hard when you develop a really strong personality for your character. :P

As an aside, I'd like to thank all my reviewers, particularly Blahdeeblah and Nefla, for your completely amazing compliments. You guys are awesome!

* * *

><p>The best way to find out if you can trust someone is to trust them.<p>

- Ralph Tarran, Human Philosopher

* * *

><p>"I never get used to thresher maws," Ashley moaned, rubbing cold sweat off the back of her neck with a grimace. Her armour was showing hard wear, scorched soot standing out against the varnished steel. She pushed herself up onto the weapons bench and began fiddling with the seals of her boots.<p>

"There's something about that rumble," Shepard agreed as he pulled off his gauntlets, "it puts a rock in my stomach every time."

"You'd never guess it. I though nothing phased you," Ash laughed and sighed with relief as her boots slid off. She closed her eyes and stretched her toes, savouring the freedom for a few moments before she started with her knee pads.

Wrex had already wandered off to his own corner of the hangar. Despite every assurance to the contrary, he remained convinced of human incompetence when it came to alien armour and wouldn't let Ashley touch his equipment. He did seem to be warming up though, he'd grunted as he passed by which, for him, was the same as a heartfelt, lingering hug.

"People who aren't afraid of thresher maws don't live very long when they come up against them as often as we do," Shepard replied, tossing his gauntlets on the floor since Ash was occupying the bench. He rubbed at his neck, kneading a knot in the thick muscles. He could feel the vertebra sitting wrong all up and down his back, that double-hit from the rocket turret had thrown everything out of whack.

They undressed in silence for a moment. Shepard pulled his breast plate over his head, grimacing as the muscles through his back voiced their displeasure. He glimpsed blood and glanced down at himself. The medigel had taken care of the wound, but half his shirt was coated in cold, congealing blood. He'd barely felt it. He peeled the thin, blood-and-sweat-soaked muscle shirt off without thinking.

"Oh my God!" Ash gasped, pushing off the bench, her eyes wide.

"What?" Shepard looked down, wiping trails of old blood away. "You can't tell me blood freaks you out Williams. I'll never be able to stop making fun of you."

"Not that! What the hell are all of those?" Ash gestured down the length of his naked torso. "Did you spend your childhood fist-fighting varren or something?"

Realization dawned on him and Shepard looked down at himself with new eyes.

All across the left side of his ribs and torso angry red scars stood out over the older, paler ones. Some were deep, evil things that gnarled like tree roots and others were thin and shallow. On his right side a gash that had taken a large but hazy number of stitches to close cut his nipple in half and descended almost all the way to his navel. An old stab wound that had nicked the top of his collar bone wrinkled in the thick muscle of his neck like a sink hole. Others speckled his chest and shoulders.

Unimaginably, he felt himself blushing. It was a horrifically adolescent response, and he suppressed it as best he could. His cheeks cooled, but he could feel his ears burning red as his hair as he looked up and met her eyes. His jaw set, chin jutting as his brow wrinkled in a frown. He could feel the deep line forming down the centre of his forehead, the surest sign he was truly upset and not glaring for dramatic effect.

"Something like that," he replied, kicking Alenko's locker open and pulling out the spare shirt on the top shelf.

"I... sorry," Ash blushed herself as she realized what she'd said, "it's just that you don't see a lot of people with scars like that."

"There wasn't a lot of medigel flying around on the streets of Trinidad," Shepard grunted. He was unreasonably angry with her for reacting the way she had. He took control of his emotions, pulling them back from the downward spiral they were attempting to take.

"Is... was that guy outside of Chora's... did he do that to you?" She asked hesitantly. "You were kind of rough with him."

The memory of Finch's nose breaking under his fist like empty egg shells sent a shiver up Shepard's spine. Or, really, it wasn't the memory of the actual event but the rush of black adrenaline it had given him and the urge he'd had to keep hitting the other man, the buzz in his ears that had blocked out the reasonable world for a long moment. The feeling of his guiding light faltering, giving way to the person he used to be.

"You touched your gun, Shepard."

Ash brought him out of his memories. He paused, with the shirt hanging limp in his hands, and looked at her. His frown, his red ears, the line down his forehead, all melted away and his face settled into a blank slate with only a little grimness around the edges.

"What?"

"You slugged him, and he reeled back spitting blood, and you went for your gun. You touched it, and..." Ash hesitated. "And you never touch your gun, not unless you're thinking about using it. It's something I've noticed about you. When you're bluffing you act like it's not even there, but when you touch it I know things are about to get real."

"That's a dirty joke waiting to happen."

"If you don't want to talk about it, sir, I won't presume. But..." Her eyes flicked down to the scars again, and then back up to his face. "But don't joke. I... permission to speak freely?"

"Granted."

"I don't know how I feel about my commanding officer pulling his gun on an unarmed civilian."

It came out in a rush, in a single breath. Her eyes were wide, a little frightened, as though she couldn't believe she'd actually said it. Her hands twisted together unconsciously in front of her as she waited for his response. This had obviously been bothering her for a while.

"I didn't pull a gun on anyone," Shepard said carefully.

She seemed to sense she was treading on dangerous ground. She broke eye contact and took a deep breath. Shepard waited. It had been a long time since he realized the longer he waited in a conversation the more power he had.

"But... you thought about it." She said finally.

"I think about a lot of things. I think about replacing the mess with a food court. I think about quitting the military to live on a boat in the Caribbean Sea. I think about doing all of that with a super model. I think about sleeping with that super model. But, you know, I don't actually do any of those things," he cocked an eyebrow at her and felt his grin tugging at the corners of his mouth.

"I asked you not to joke," Ash said, her face still serious.

Shepard sighed.

"Finch didn't do this to me, not directly. He was as much of a victim as I was, if you want to know the truth. He just wasn't as good as handling it, and I guess in the end it was easier to become one of them than it was to get away. That's usually how it happens," he shrugged. "It doesn't matter now."

"How can you say that?" Ash asked. "Look at yourself. Are you saying people just got away with doing that to you?"

Shepard stared at her for a moment.

"Where did you grow up, Chief?"

"What does that have to do with anything?"

"Look, you wanted to talk and we're talking. Answer the question or I'll put my shirt on and then you'll really be sorry."

"I-"

"Yes, you asked me not to joke, but that's not really an option, Chief. It's kind of my thing."

Ash bit her lip, considering it for a long moment. Finally she dropped her hands back to her sides and walked back to the bench, pushing herself back into a sitting position. After a moment Shepard followed her and pushed himself up beside her. When the muscles in his arms tightened it made the scars there stand out almost as clearly as the bad ones laced across his torso.

"I grew up in Buenos Aires," she said. "But... you know. Not in the city. In one of the white suburbs."

"Rich kid?"

"Not rich, but... not far off. My mom had money when she married my dad," Ashley tapped her foot anxiously against the side of the bench. "What does this have to do with you?"

"I grew up in Trinidad," he glanced at her, "have you heard of it?"

"Should I have?" She asked.

"See, this is my point, Ash. You and I... we're both military but we come from different worlds. When I was growing up I couldn't imagine that there was anyone in the world who didn't know what Trinidad was. It's a city in Cuba by the way, a sweltering cesspool where the cops don't go and the government pretends doesn't exist. It's ruled by gangs, and gangs don't care about justice or how many stitches it takes to put a kid back together after another tears him apart." He glanced at her again, gauging her reaction carefully.

"I'd heard about the gangs," she said quietly.

"Everyone has. But what they don't hear is that I was never a gang-banger or a thug, never a member. I was just a skinny little runt, usually pumped up with some sort of heavy chemical, fighting in a pit or cutting people open in back alleys." He said it plain. There was no other way to do it. Ash always knew when he was lying.

"I'm not proud of it."

"What happened to your parents?" Ashley asked quietly.

"Don't know. Don't care. I've always been on my own, and the way I reacted to it was..." He gritted his teeth and grimaced as though fighting a bad taste at the back of his throat. "It wasn't... it's not how I am anymore. The person I was would have gunned Finch down without blinking."

They sat in silence for a long moment. Shepard pulled the replacement shirt over his head and rubbed at his hair. After a long moment Ashley looked over at him again, her jaw set.

"Why did you tell me all that?" She asked.

"Because you said you were unsure. I can't have that. You either have to believe that I'm not the kind of person that will actually pull a gun on a civilian or we can't work together. I hoped... knowing what I've come through you'd believe I'm better than that. Now." He put one hand on his knee, leaning hard against it as his tired muscles sagged, and met her eyes, not flinching. "So?"

"I... I guess I know you, don't I?" She smiled, "Which means I know you wouldn't."

"I hope so. Because there might come a day when I need you to trust me, no questions, no objections, no hesitation. And if you can't do that, you'd better tell me right now and I'll get you transferred. I have some pull with some officers around the fringe, I can get you a better post than Eden Prime. An old friend of mine is going to captain the new dreadnought Ankokuji," his face was very serious as he studied her. "It would be a good post."

"I want to stay here," she said firmly, meeting his eyes.

"That's not what I asked you," he said, cutting the air between them with the flat of his hand. "I don't care what you want. I need to know that you trust me, Ash. I need to know that you'll obey me, no matter what I order you to do because you trust that I'm doing the right thing. So... do you trust me?"

They stared at each other for a moment. There was a space between them, between what they had been and the effect it had on them, that was wider than the space between Buenos Aires and Trinidad. Shepard found himself wondering if she could ever really trust him, even if she said she could. He held her eyes, saw uncertainty flicker and die as she set her jaw hard.

"Of course I do," she said, with confidence. "Do you trust me?"

"Of course I do," Shepard grinned. He swung down off the bench, stretching his arms and wincing as he remembered his back didn't like that. He'd have to go see Chakwas and see if the good doctor could snap his spine into its proper shape again. He thumbed the seals that held his greaves to his hips and felt them release, kicking them off and into the pile of his discarded armour.

"I'll get that clean for you, Commander," Ash sounded bright and confident again, more than she had since that altercation with Finch. She didn't even complain about him leaving it in a heap beside the bench, like she usually did.

"Good. Look, Ash, Alenko and I are going to try and grab some real food in between missions next time we're on the Citadel. If you wanted to come that would be... you know. Cool." He laughed at himself.

"Sounds like my invite to junior prom," Ashley laughed too.

"I don't know what prom actually is. My impression is that it's an excuse for teenagers to have sex with each other."

"That's... pretty accurate actually," Ashley shrugged, "but it's also an excuse to drink and wear pretty dresses."

"I never needed an excuse to do any of that," Shepard grinned toothily, "any of it."

"I'd love to see you in a prom dress, sir. So yeah, I'll come grab some grub with you and the L.T."

"Good. I'm glad."

"So am I."

* * *

><p>The repost was just about changing the spelling to the in-game canon. Sorry about the distraction, an old friend of mine shares the name and she spells it Ashleigh so it was kind of automatic.<p> 


	6. Interspecies Diplomacy

There is nothing on Rannoch, or in Heaven, or among the stars that is more beautiful or of greater value than a good friend found somewhere unexpected.

- Rhana T'paleen vas Kalas, Quarian Admiral

* * *

><p>Tali really didn't know what to think of Commander Shepard.<p>

In the alley when they'd met he had been like a demon, grinning and laughing and blowing people away with close-range blasts from a sniper rifle. He was... dangerous. It had taken every ounce of courage she had in her, and all her considerable reserves of burning curiosity, to go with him. It had been the best and the most terrifying decision of her life. She only had to fight alongside him once to know that, and the more she saw the more both feelings grew in her.

And then he had started coming down to see her in the engine room. She had been cautious, intimidated even, at the beginning. He was always so focused when they were working, not one for idle banter unless he was the one that started it. When eyes turned to him he could be as solemn and stately as a saint, the soul of professionalism.

The first time he told her a dirty joke she almost fell over on her ass. Then he started asking her about the engines, and really seemed to understand her answers. By the time one week had passed he understood them better than a number of the junior engineers. He'd shown her a math joke the other day that involved several calculations on Krogan moving at light speed in a vacuum. It had been surprisingly funny, and completely brilliant. He never made her feel like an alien. He was kind.

And dangerous. No amount of grins or laughter could erase that from him. He was funny, and brilliant, and kind, and ruthless, and dangerous. She'd seen him carve through a room of mercenary soldiers with a sort of deadly elegance usually reserved for predators in the nature vids.

Sometimes he would crack a joke, right in the middle of everything. Once, with his shields failing, she had seen him take a blast from a pistol. Blood had splattered the crates behind him and Shepard had laughed, LAUGHED, like it was some sort of game. He was fearless.

She really did not know what to make of him, until that day.

He liked to wander on the Citadel. That day they had found a strange little store squirreled away on a higher level of the wards that sold all sorts of ridiculous nicknacks from all corners of the galaxy, most of dubious quality. Shepard had been very entertained by volus action figures, he'd bought three of them as Tali looked at a number of ornate crystal bird figurines that were reportedly handmade on Thessia. Somehow, she doubted it. They were remarkably ugly.

"What kind of action figure doesn't have karate chop action?" Shepard asked, appearing at her shoulder with one of the figures held out. He squeezed the thing and it let out a remarkably life like volus wheeze, but other than that appeared to have very little in the way of 'action' functions. "An awesome kind, that's what. If I was a little younger I'd steal some grenades from the armoury and blow the crap out of these things."

"Why did you buy three of them?" Tali asked, taking the little rubber figure from him and squeezing it herself. It was kind of cute, in a way. Little rubber googly-eyes pressed against its eye lenses every time she squeezed.

"I've got a couple friends that'll get a kick out of them. They'll probably actually blow them up though, they're all posted on-planet," he sighed, "saving the galaxy is so inconvenient sometimes. I hate being respectable."

Tali laughed, he looked too put out with his situation for her to keep a straight face.

"Well, I don't know about grenades," she said softly, with a conspiracy in her voice. Shepard made a dramatic show of checking to see who was listening and leaned in close. "But I know a dextro restaurant a few levels down that sells fireworks out of their back door."

"Fireworks?" Shepard asked.

"Really big fireworks. The kind that could turn an action figure into a blob of melted offal."

Shepard blinked at her for a moment, his face pensive, thoughtful. Then it split into a huge grin, spread from ear to ear. He grabbed her shoulder and jostled her around, the way he did with Ashley and Kaidan. It made her absurdly pleased with herself to be accepted so completely.

"What's going on?" Garrus asked, appearing from one of the aisles and giving them a suspicious look.

Shepard trod purposefully on her foot as Tali opened her mouth to answer.

"Nothing, Vakarian. Just picking up gag-gifts for a couple old friends," he made brief eye contact with Tali and shook his head, just slightly.

Tali had to stifle a giggle. It had been a long time since she got up to any mischief, what with coming into adulthood and leaving the safety of the Fleet for a galaxy that probably would have labelled a Quarian blowing up action figures with fireworks as terrorism. The grin they exchanged made her feel like a pigeon-toed little girl again and she found it strangely comforting.

"Send me the address to that restaurant," Shepard muttered out of the corner of his mouth. "And meet me there later tonight, after we've dumped Johnny Law back on the ship." He gestured to Garrus with his thumb, rolling his eyes dramatically.

Tali couldn't hold it in this time. She giggled, and clamped her hands over the imput-output of her helmet. Garrus looked over his shoulder at her, his mandibles twitching curiously. She just shook her head and laughed harder, her shoulders shaking. Shepard shortly joined in, and the Turian just looked more confused.

"Never mind," Shepard slapped him on the shoulder pad, "come on, let's head back to the ship."

* * *

><p>A friend is someone who sees you for who you are, and puts up with you anyway.<p>

- Atturan Bittick, Turian Artist

* * *

><p>"Do you know what my father would say if he could see me now?" Garrus asked, incredulously as he appeared at Shepard's elbow.<p>

"Your human friend is almost as ugly as you are?" Shepard guessed with a grin.

"He'd say you've proved every bad thing ever said about the Spectres completely, one-hundred percent correct," Garrus groused. But he took the seat Shepard gestured to. The bar was small and quiet, a place for drinking rather than dancing. Compared to the screaming, flashing, pulsing noise-hole of Chora's den, or the slightly less offensive Flux it was positively low key. It's clientele was almost entirely human.

"A dextro-something for my friend," Shepard ordered when the waitress approached.

"Alcohol doesn't have enough protein content to trigger a reaction," Garrus was still scowling, or at least doing the Turian equivalent of scowling. The angrier he got the stiller his face went, even his mandibles drawing in close to his jaw and going still. An angry Turian was a still and silent Turian. "I'll have vodka with tonic water."

"That's a girl's drink," Shepard said as the waitress wandered off.

"It's better than drinking 'dextro-something' out of a plastic bottle. I don't think this place sees a lot of alien business." Garrus accepted his drink from the waitress, poured into a square glass that fit his alien mouth a little better than the round ones humans seemed to favour. He didn't look Shepard in the eyes.

Silence sat between them for a long moment. Shepard was drinking bourbon from a mostly empty bottle in the middle of the table. He splashed himself a generous three finger top-up before leaning back in his seat and visibly committing to the conversation that was obviously coming.

"Come to offer me your resignation, Vakarian?"

"I was thinking about it. I don't want to."

"Then don't. I like having you on the ship, it saves me from trying to shanghai some ensign into fumbling around with the Mako. Also, you look good in the press shots. Really kumbaya."

"I don't know what that means."

"Of course not. What I'm trying to say is you're useful, capable, you do good work and I like having you around," he lifted his glass and drank. "So don't go."

"You got arrested," Garrus pointed out.

"I didn't get arrested, I'm a Spectre. C-Sec just showed up and politely asked me to stop doing what I was doing."

"Blowing up volus action figures."

"Right."

"With fireworks."

"Right."

"Why? Why would you do that?" Garrus looked up from his own, scarcely touched drink. His dusty blue eyes were as expressive as wet marbles to Shepard's untrained eyes. He really needed to brush up on his non-human facial expressions.

Shepard frowned, putting his glass down on the table. He studied Garrus for a long moment, trying to decide exactly how to explain himself to this strange, stiff-backed person. He didn't know if Turian's even had a sense of humour. Garrus certainly never laughed at any of his jokes. Then again, that might not be because he didn't have a sense of humour.

"I did it because it sounded like fun. And it was fun. We tied each limb to a different rocket and set them all off at once, it was great."

"And you did that from the top of a walkway in the middle of Presidium. Do you have any idea how many regulations and laws you broke just to have a bit of fun?"

"Judging from the lecture-mode you've gone into I'm going to guess... a lot."

"Yes, a lot would be a good way to begin." Garrus sighed, rubbing at his neck underneath the thick spines that comprised his head fringe. "Help me out here Shepard. I've seen you fight. I've seen you lead. I've seen you talk to politicians. But this... I don't get this. It's kid stuff."

"Yeah, I guess you're right," Shepard sighed, rubbing his forehead and dragging his fingers up, through his chemical red hair. "It was kind of stupid. But those are the best parts of life sometimes, so when you get the chance to have a bit of fun... why not take it? Especially during times like these."

"It just seems so irresponsible," Garrus' voice was troubled.

"It is irresponsible," Shepard shrugged, "so what? Everyone's irresponsible sometimes, and everyone isn't running around the galaxy trying to save it from the geth as a day job. I thought I earned the right to throw some fireworks off a Presidium walkway. And it made Tali happy. She's got a pretty laugh, I like hearing it."

He shrugged again.

"So... that's why I did it Garrus. That's all the explanation I can give you. If it's not good enough... well I hope you can recommend someone who's at least half as good with a wrench and sniper rifle as you are. Snipers work better in pairs."

That was true. Everyone knew that. And Shepard was... with Shepard it was better than most. He was so good, Garrus knew he couldn't turn away from this. There was Saren, and what he had done to the good name of Turian's everywhere, and there was the responsibility he felt for doing something to help the galaxy. All that was very important. But what would he do if he left the Normandy now? Go back to C-Sec? Go back to filling out paperwork and dodging around red tape all damn day and never getting anything done?

"Well next time... next time you could invite me along," he said, looking up. "If I'm going to have to hear my father lecture me about what my commanding officer is doing I'd like to at least have a piece of the fun."

"Deal," Shepard shot down the rest of his bourbon and reached for the bottle. He drained that as well, and set it down empty beside his glass. "For now, let's go find a place where you can get something better than a vodka and tonic. Seriously, I can't be seen with a man who drinks like a grandmother."

"Didn't you just drink a whole bottle of... whatever that is?" Garrus asked, his mandibles quivering on the edge of laughter.

"You clearly never went to Calypso Technical Academy," Shepard drawled. "That's barely even 'before dinner' drinking. We haven't even started on our male bonding drinking."

"I'm not going to lie," Garrus said dryly, "I'm a little scared."

"Good," Shepard grinned, "fear is good. Now let's go."

* * *

><p>Laughter is what makes up the real conversation between friends.<p>

- Shaelgrath, Krogan Battlemaster

* * *

><p>"So Shepard, why do you come down here?" Wrex asked.<p>

Shepard looked up from where he was reclining on top of a pile of shipping containers. He was looking a little rough around the edges, his usually immaculate jaw drizzled with thick black stubble, his hair uncombed, and deep black circles standing out under his eyes. He took another long sip out of the mug he'd brought with him, coffee-scented steam rising out of it in clouds.

"It's quiet," he said.

"That's why I like it," Wrex said, pointedly. "I don't want you down here trying to chat me up like you do with the Quarian."

"I wouldn't dream of it. Though I do know this awesome joke about Krogan travelling at light speed in a vacuum, if you've got a pen and a working understanding of quantum physics."

Wrex didn't laugh, Shepard could barely imagine him really laughing. He did sort of shift and look over his shoulder, making eye contact with him for the first time during their last five short and ultimately directionless conversations.

"You like jokes?" He asked.

"I don't like being serious. You might have noticed that about me."

"Fine. So there's this restaurant up on the Presidium and an asari has heard from all her little blue friends that it's the best place to eat in ten systems. In particular she's heard they make a mean varren stew."

"Wait, are you seriously going to tell me a joke?"

"Not if you keep talking."

"Sorry. I'm just honoured is all." Shepard put his coffee down and crossed his legs, setting his elbows on his knees and his chin on his hands. He looked like a little kid getting ready to hear a story before naptime. All he needed to do was clap his hands together to complete the image. "Go on."

"Right, she's heard the varren stew is good. So she goes to the restaurant and asks for the stew, but the waitress tells her they've sold the last bowl to the Krogan sitting beside her at the bar. She looks over and sees the Krogan has finished his meal, but the bowl is still full so she asks him if he's going to eat it. He looks at her for a long minute and says 'no, help yourself' so she does.

She takes it and starts to eat but when she gets about halfway to the bottom of the bowl her spoon comes away full of dead mouse. She stops, gags, and then throws up all the stew back into her bowl.

The Krogan notices and looks over at her as he's paying his bill.

'Yeah,' he says, 'that's about as far as I got too' and then he leaves."

"Aww," Shepard's lips pulled up in a grimace at the thought, his face taking on a green tinge as nausea mixed with his hang over. "That's vile."

And then he laughed. To his surprise, Wrex laughed too.

"Is all Krogan humour based on bodily functions?" He asked after his stomach had calmed.

"Most of it. Definitely all of the good stuff," Wrex chuckled. "Let's hear this light speed joke then."

"I've got a better one, now that I think about it," Shepard leaned back again, resting on his elbow as his legs dangled over the edge of crates. He wracked his brain for a suitably filthy joke to replace his light speed one, going back to his months in Basic to make sure he'd picked the right one.

"So a Turian, a Batarian and a Vorcha carry this bucket into a bar..." He began, wracking his brain to draw up all the hazy details of the old punch line. He sensed that he had picked well, and was rewarded when Wrex laughed loud enough to make Ashley look up from her station, a curious look on her face.

"You're alright, Shepard," Wrex admitted after they had stood a while in silence, letting the aftershocks of good humour work their way out.

"Coming from you that's one of the greatest compliments I've ever heard," Shepard laughed.

"Don't get used to it. I meant what I said, if you want small talk go talk to Alenko or something."

"Fair enough. Can I come to you for more jokes?"

"Maybe, if I think of any." Wrex paused, before throwing another look out of the corner of his eye at him. "You could stop by and check. You know, once in a while."

"Sounds good to me."


	7. Meatloaf

Being human means forever being a work in progress.

- Benjamin Wrigley, Human Comedian

* * *

><p>There is a certain kind of person who is never really innocent. They are small, most certainly, in the early years of their lives. No one can avoid that. Shepard was small, smaller than most actually, and a scrawny bit of gristle besides that. Contrary to expectations, that had made the situation worse rather than better.<p>

He remembers, vaguely, his life before the gang. He remembers scrounging for food all hours of the day, his belly distended and his limbs swelling from malnutrition. He remembers the feeling of his teeth hanging loose from their roots as his gums curled back from dehydration, the sight of his bones moving against each other under nothing but skin, and the pain, the sharp, stabbing, constant pain. He remembers taking food from the mouths of other starving children to feed himself, the animalistic apathy of starvation making everything black and endless and pointless.

They aren't good memories, but they're better than his time with the Reds. He forces himself to take out those memories, to look at what he was and what he did. He should probably be in prison. He counts the bodies from his memories often, other children from the pits, rival gang members, untrustworthy drug dealers, Arturo's enemies and then, finally, at the end Arturo's friends. It always takes a while to remember them all. It seems impossible that he could have killed all those people sometimes, but he did, and he has to remember that. He has to remember what he did, who he was, and why.

When he remembers all of this, there is always one thought that comes to mind, a resolution he makes to himself. There are some things a man just doesn't do.

It seems like a strange thing for someone like him to say, but one thing he learned on the long path between being a jackal in human skin and an actual functioning human being is that there are some things that a man simply does not do. He was never innocent, but he was a child and the world is a hard, cruel place. Because of that there is some small, very small, measure of forgiveness he is willing to allow himself.

But now he is a man, and the only way to redeem the child is to recognize that there is a right way of living and follow it. To approach every decision, every situation, knowing no matter how hard it is, how uncertain it might be, there is a line that cannot be crossed. Not for anything.

He had this in mind as he attacked the problem of the Rachni Queen with his usual mercurial speed. The question was analyzed, turned over in his head, inspected from every angle. He referenced galactic history, a series of documentaries he'd watched a couple years ago, the advice his squad mates were putting forward and mixed it all together, drawing conclusions, coming to certain decisions independently and contrasting them with other decisions he'd made at the same time.

It was a messy, chaotic way of thinking but it served him well. In just a few seconds he had decided that he had to kill the Queen.

She was just too much of a risk. Her music was in his head, like the Protheans were in his head, a whisper behind his more immediate thoughts. It was soft and mournful, ancient beyond imagining. It did not beseech. It did not beg. She had said all she was going to say. It was the song of her heart, and it was lost and scared and lonely, the last of its kind in a silent universe.

He examined the controls that would release gouts of acid onto this creature. It was a sadistic way to kill something, the sort of thing someone would use to kill an animal not a sentient creature. He looked down into her eyes. They were black as oil, unreadable. Did the Rachni even have emotions like other sentient species? He supposed they must. To make music like this, they must.

Sometimes it's simple to see where the line is. On Elysium it had been simple. On Feros it had been simple. On Therum it had been simple. It was always so easy, because he was smart and he could see past the immediate moment to what the consequences of his actions might be. He was doing this now, and he saw so much war, and blood, and death. The Rachni had terrorized the galaxy once. They could do so again, easily.

But if he pressed that button and murdered her, and it would be murder there was no mistaking that, what would he be doing, really? Xenocide, that's what they'd called it in the galactic history course he'd taken at Tech Academy. To wipe out an alien race, entirely, so that none remain anywhere. The Rachni were the only example in modern galactic history, or they had been until now.

Shepard had the option to make that true again. And he didn't think he could do it.

The idea sat like a cold stone in his stomach and he frowned. There was no logical reason why he should hesitate to do this. It made the most sense. It was the right thing to do. But something deep and nameless in his gut told him it was wrong. Who was he to say that an entire race should be wiped from existence? Who was he to say that he should kill this creature, who was nothing like any other person he had ever met but who was still self aware, intelligent, sentient. Who had been enslaved, forced to do something she didn't want to do, and who now had to live with the burden of what she had created.

Okay. So maybe he was drawing some parallels. He couldn't help it, those thoughts had been heavy on his mind of late.

There was nothing left to do. No more questions to ask. It was time to make a decision. His stomach boiled as he reached toward the controls and he forced himself to look down. She was a truly hideous creature. It was hard to imagine complex thoughts firing behind those lidless black eyes.

Shepard lowered his hands.

He heard Liara's relieved sigh mingle with Ashley's grunt of surprise. He did his best to ignore both of them as he typed in the codes that would release the Queen from her tank. He didn't feel like talking about it, like trying to justify himself. Mostly, he wasn't sure what to say.

He didn't know yet if he regretted the decision.

* * *

><p>Kaidan was reasonably sure that he could call Commander Shepard his friend.<p>

In fact, he was sure. And if he was sure then the only reason he was still watching him out of the corner of his eye instead of talking to him was cowardice.

It wasn't just that he respected the man. He did, he most certainly did, but there was more to it than that. Shepard was... he was fun. Kaidan genuinely liked him. Once you got used to the slightly abrasive cockiness that he wore like a suit of armour, and stopped being distracted by that ridiculous red hair, Shepard was as good a man as any Kaidan had ever met.

And he was brilliant. That was something Kaidan had never known about him, but Williams insisted it was true. He could see it, in the way Shepard handled situations. He never hesitated, never faltered, and yet he always seemed to being doing exactly what needed to be done at the time. He never got bogged down in a problem.

So why then was he sitting at the table in the mess hall, his rations stone cold on the tray, untouched? His astounding eyes were glassy, looking at something far, far away. He was troubled, so very obviously troubled.

So why was he standing here, fiddling with a circuit board that had been patched and ready to go fifteen minutes ago? Kaidan set his jaw. He was going over there, protocol be damned. A soldier didn't offer advice to his superior officer, but Shepard himself had said they were friends. A friend didn't watch a friend sitting alone with that expression on his face and do nothing.

He set his tools aside and wiped mineral oil off his hands. When he sat down across from Shepard the other man stirred and shook himself, as though coming out of a trance. He rolled his shoulders and stretched, the muscles in his neck standing out tight and tense as steel cables.

"Hey, Shepard."

"Alenko," his smile was thin. "How's it going?"

"Oh, you know," Kaidan shrugged, "living the dream."

Shepard laughed, and it sounded at least partially genuine. He looked down at his food, gravy congealing into slime on top of reheated but now stone cold freeze dried meatloaf. To Kaidan's surprise, and disgust, he picked up his fork.

"You can't be serious," he said, his face twisting into a mask of horror. "That stuff tastes like old shoes when it's hot and fresh."

"If you'd grown up with me Alenko, you'd never in your life pass up a meal," Shepard said. His voice was light, but a ribbon of darkness ran through it. Something sharp and close to the surface, cutting. Shepard looked away and chewed cold meatloaf with a look of determination on his face.

"You feeling alright?" He didn't know how else to say it. He hoped that he wasn't about to get stone walled and chastised. Military men weren't renown for their willingness to sit down and talk about their feelings. Shepard didn't acknowledge the question until he'd swallowed.

When Shepard looked up they locked eyes. Kaidan was struck again, he didn't know how many times now, by the intensity of his gaze. After a moment Shepard looked away.

He put his fork down.

"Just thinking about what happened on Noveria," he said quietly.

"Yeah, that was... a hell of a thing. Ash filled me in on all the details."

"Did she give you her opinion?"

"Chief Williams is the soul of professionalism, sir."

"Liar," Shepard had a bit of his grin back. "Well, you know all the details. Do you have an opinion, Lieutenant Alenko?" There was a challenge in his eyes, and something else too.

"Frankly sir, I don't know what I would have done differently."

"Really?" Shepard looked surprised. "I understand why Liara supported me. She believed what the Rachni Queen said, that they really are just going to disappear onto a distant world and live out an eternity of peace among themselves. But why you?"

"I've got your back Shepard. You've never steered me wrong and I trust your judgement, so I support you. But... on a more personal note..." He hesitated.

"Yes, permission to speak freely. God, you are the most cautious conversationalist I've ever met."

Kaidan laughed softly. "I guess so. I just mean to say, on a personal note, I understand. Ending a life is one thing, when the situation calls for it. Ending a species... that's something else."

Shepard looked relieved.

"Sometimes I think I'm crazy," he confided after a moment. "I try to figure everything out with my head, and when I try to use other parts of me I'm never sure if..." He shook himself again, like coming out of a trance, and laughed at himself. "Bleh. Rambling. Anyway. That's not really what I'm worried about. What's done is done. The Rachni are back and there's nothing anyone can do about it."

"Oh," Kaidan blinked. "What's got you torturing yourself with cold rations then?"

"It's Benezia. Or, well, it's Liara. She hasn't come out of her lab all day."

"Yeah," Kaidan glanced over his shoulder, following Shepard's gaze. He was staring at the door at the back of the med bay that led to Liara's lab. "I can't imagine what she's going through right now."

"Neither can I," Shepard replied, "which is the problem. I'm no good with family stuff, Alenko. What am I supposed to say to her?"

"I'm sure she just needs a little sympathy," Kaidan reasoned. "Someone to listen, you know how it is."

"Yeah, look, you're really underestimating the severity of this problem. I am the worst with family counseling. When I tried to comfort my roommate in Tech Academy after his mother died I nearly ended our friendship. It just..." He grasped inarticulately at the air. "It just doesn't click for me. I never know what to say."

He sighed, deeply.

"When we first picked her up I couldn't help but think... she was still such a kid, you know? Not that she couldn't handle herself, but she was so shocked by all the ugliness in the universe. It was like she grew up not knowing that people are cruel and vicious and ruthless," he shook his head like the idea of such a thing was ridiculous. "And now, every day, I see her getting more and more used to it. Acclimatizing to it. Damn it, Alenko, that's not what I wanted to do when I brought her along. And now her mother's dead, and I'm out here eating this disgusting fucking meat loaf."

He pushed the tray away.

"You were right. Not even I can finish that."

"It's not your fault."

"I know that, I'm not stupid. Just frustrated. I'm a techie, Alenko, I like being able to fix things all proper, with colour-coded wires, and snap a casing over it when I'm done to make it look pretty," Shepard rested his chin on his cupped hand, his elbow on the table between them.

"Yeah, I get that," Kaidan laughed. Something about military neatness and the meticulous attention to detail tech work demanded attracted a certain kind of mind. Kaidan often felt exactly like him.

"But I can't fix this by being smart. Being smart can't give me emotions or experiences I don't have, and it can't tell me what I'm supposed to say to Liara."

"Do you want my advice?"

"Desperately," Shepard leaned forward. "Fill me with your wisdom."

"Don't try to say anything to her. Just listen to her, and I think you'll be able to figure out what she needs. You are awfully smart, Shepard," Kaidan shrugged. "And even if you do mess it up, you can't mess it up any worse than you will if you don't go and talk to her at all."

"Both of those are very astute points," Shepard admitted. He squared his shoulders, visibly drawing himself together. "Wish me luck. Actually, wish her luck. She deserves it more than me."

Kaidan watched him walk off. His eyes traced the broad, confident sweep of his shoulders, the back of his neck, the way he always seemed to be at the centre of the room, no matter what he was doing. He realized what was happening with a lurch that wiped the unconscious smile off his face and sent the real world crashing down around his ears like icy water.

Shepard turned back and looked over his shoulder as he reached the med-bay doors. Kaidan tried to return his smile, but he was feeling queasy all of a sudden and it came out crooked. Shepard laughed at the stupid expression and Kaidan felt himself blushing. He was going to blame the proximity of the cold meatloaf.

This, Kaidan thought as he turned the problem over in his head, was going to be very, very, very inconvenient.


	8. Happiness in a Bottle

A thousand candles may be lit from the flame of one, and that candle will not be shortened for its efforts. Happiness is never diminished by being shared.

- Larana Nirine, Last Poet of Rakhana

* * *

><p>They were drunk, all three of them, and it was really shameful.<p>

Technically they were well within their rights, all three were off-duty as part of a ship wide twenty-four hour shore leave ordered by the man in the middle, who was building a pyramid out of empty beer bottles.

It wasn't that he was slacking off, he had a feeling that they were headed toward the end. He could feel Saren crouching out there in the darkness, waiting for him. So he'd resolved to get drunk, if only because this might be the last time. Having Alenko and Williams along just made it better. They had decided, unanimously, about twelve beers into the night, that they would have to be friends forever. Who else could you talk to about something like this? The only people who would ever understand would be the people who lived it with you.

Still, all justifications aside, it was shameful for three officers to be out and about in their state.

Luckily it was just Chora's Den.

"I know why Alenko likes this bar," Ash drawled, rolling her eyes at a gyrating stripper who had been eyeballing them from across the room for the last five minutes, "but why did you want to come here, Shepard?"

"It's a dive!" Shepard cheered, topping off his pyramid and ordering a round of shots to celebrate its glorious construction. "I love a good dive."

The bartender arrived with the round, and quickly, professionally destroyed the perilous pyramid as Shepard handed out the shots. He whisked the empty bottles away, under the counter, and left them one full of whiskey.

"To my short lived empire," Shepard toasted mournfully.

He poured more for all of them. Though they were all very aware it was probably a bad idea, no one felt like mentioning it just yet.

"Okay... Shepard... don't get mad. But I have to ask you something," Kaidan set his empty shot glass down firmly down on the table. He eyed Shepard with intensity. "What is with the hair?"

"Oh, that's a good one," Ash bobbed up and down in her seat. "I like it."

Shepard gave him a flat look before he downed his own shot. It was hard to tell what he was thinking, but he didn't look angry. At least, not quite. "Alenko, why'd you have to go and make it all awkward for me?"

"What do you mean?"

"Asking me about my hair," he ran his fingers through it. In the harsh lights of the club it almost glowed, radioactive red right down to the roots. "What if I told you I just think it looks cool?"

"Sorry, I'm not drunk enough to believe that."

"Me neither," Ash shook her head, her pony tail bouncing across her shoulders.

"Hey, who wants another shot?" Shepard asked, pouring. "Shots, shots, shots!"

"I don't think I'll ever be drunk enough to believe it."

"Kaidan, be reasonable. At some point you'll be drunk enough to be dead, and if it happens that way at least you still stop asking me about it."

"Is it that big of a secret?" Ash looked surprised.

"It kind of is, actually," he appeared to be quite serious. After a moment he sighed and drank the fresh drink he'd poured himself. Kaidan and Ash were falling behind, but they had been behind all night really. Few people in the world could drink like Shepard.

"I'll make you guys a deal though. I'll take one of your secrets for mine, because I'm drunk and therefore allergic to good decision making."

The two soldiers exchanged looks.

"Sounds fair."

"Deal."

"Okay, Williams first."

"Hey, how did that get decided?"

"Sorry Ash, sucks to be junior officer doesn't it?" Shepard and Kaidan laughed wickedly together as Ash glared at them.

"Okay, let me think for a moment."

"And don't come out with your lesbian experience in boot camp. We all had those, it's not news."

"I didn't, but you do seem like the kind that would have a lesbian experience in boot camp, Shepard," Ash grinned through her teeth at him.

"Williams, you're so funny. Do you write your own material?" Shepard asked sarcastically as he drank again, now at least three shots ahead of them. "Though I guess I experimented with heterosexuality in boot camp, which is sort of similar to a straight girl having a lesbian experience."

"How is that?" Kaidan asked, cocking an eyebrow as Shepard shuddered visibly at the memory.

"I just mean that it was sticky, uncomfortable and disappointing for everyone involved," he confided. "I don't know how you do it, Alenko." He made a face. "No offense, Williams."

"I don't think Alenko does it very often," Williams cracked happily, "And I'm right! Look at him go all red."

"Got your secret all picked out yet? You never know when I might come to my senses and lose interest, and then you'd be left wondering about my hair forever more," Shepard ran his fingers through it again, brushing thick red bangs off his forehead and out of his eyes.

"Okay, yeah, I've got one. When I was in Basic training I had an affair with my drill instructor," she tilted her chin up in a defiant way, meeting their eyes as she said it. For all that, she still managed to look bashful, like she wasn't sure if they would get up and walk away from the table in disgust.

"Ash!" Kaidan sounded shocked.

"Slut!" Shepard grinned. "Why? Were you trying to grease the wheels, or was he just really hot?"

"Ugh, I wish. The truth is, I was young, I had never really been away from my family or my responsibilities before and... I was really easily manipulated by a bottle of contraband and a bunch of military tattoos." She sighed, and shrugged it away. "Not my brightest moment."

"That sucks," Shepard said sympathetically. "I might be able to have him killed for you. I've got some friends who don't ask a lot of questions stationed on Earth right now."

"You have people willing to carry out assassination contracts?" Kaidan asked, gesturing for more whiskey.

"They owe me some favours."

"I appreciate it Shepard, but I'm over it. The guy got busted pulling his routine on a smarter recruit and got thrown down the chain of command anyway," Ash laughed. "Sometimes the universe deals out its own justice."

"Alright. Alenko, your turn."

"I have a tattoo," Kaidan said after a moment.

"No way, Alenko. That's low ball compared to mine," Ash held out her fist in the thumbs down position. "Shepard?"

"I have to agree with Williams." He copied her thumbs down. "What do you think this is? You have to pull out something really embarrassing if you want to qualify."

"It is really embarrassing. I got it when I was nineteen and too drunk to stand up straight," Kaidan drank his shot, wiping his wet lips on the back of his hand. "It's the stupidest tattoo in this room, and there's a woman with stars tattooed over half her face tending bar right now."

Shepard and Williams exchanged a doubtful look. Their thumbs stayed down.

"It's on my butt," Kaidan added.

"Sold," Shepard's thumb flipped right way up. "But this better be good, Alenko. Now show."

"Right here?"

"Right here," Ash was still looking dubious, but she was out-voted for the moment.

Kaidan stood up, a little wobbly on his feet, and fumbled with his belt buckle.

"Maybe you should apply for a job here," Ash crowed, leaning back in her seat and jostling Shepard with one elbow. "You'd fill out one of those little spandex costumes something fierce, L.T."

"Forget secrets, how much is it for a dance?" Shepard laughed.

They continued cat-calling until Kaidan turned around and tugged his boxers down just enough to expose a tattoo of a cartoon beaver, buck-toothed and grinning, on his left butt cheek. It was holding a heart in its paws that had 'MOM' written across it in bold, black letters.

There was a moment of stillness, followed by several minutes of hysterics.

"Oh my god," Shepard had to steady himself on the table as he laughed, great, braying bursts of hilarity that made him grip his stomach with one hand as his entire body shook. "Oh my god! Ay, dios mio!"

"I take it back, L.T," Ash gasped, "that's WAY more embarrassing than my thing. Thanks for making me feel better about the choices I made when I was nineteen."

"Dare I ask why?" Shepard breathed after he had calmed down, sometime later. He poured himself a drink, and refilled their glasses as well. They were almost half done the bottle.

"I have no idea," Kaidan shrugged, grinning sheepishly. "I was really drunk. I've never been that drunk since."

"Ah, teenager-dom," Ash leaned back in her seat. "Is there anything stupider than a nineteen-twenty year old kid in the military?"

"Nothing I've met," Kaidan replied, laughing, "and I'm counting varren and my boots in that statement."

Shepard was laughing to, softly into his drink.

"So is it my turn then?" He asked, rubbing his crimson hair.

"Yeah, let's hear the big secret," the two soldiers leaned forward eagerly, cupping their shot glasses on the table between them.

"Okay. I colour it so that people will think I it makes me look younger than I am. It stops them from looking closer and realizing that it doesn't. And... it's a reminder. Of where I came from." He watched their expressions carefully as they sorted through what he'd said.

"It does make you look younger than you are," Kaidan said. "I'm not going to lie, Shepard. That hair makes you look like a stupid kid."

"I am a kid," Shepard said flatly. "My paperwork just says I'm twenty three. I lied about my age to get into the Alliance."

He let that soak in. It took a moment, but Shepard forgave them. They had been drinking hard, and falsifying information on an Alliance I.D form could, technically, be called treason and could feasibly, be punishable by court marshal and dishonourable discharge. Shepard felt strangely light hearted, now that he'd gotten the actual words out. He'd never actually told anyone about it before. People guessed, people like Anderson and Ramirez who knew him well and made a habit of noticing things, but even they had never heard him actually say it.

"You've got... well... I guess I can see it." Ash squinted at him out of one eye, looking him up and down critically. "God, you are young. Now I feel like a long-toothed soldier hag. What are you, twenty?"

"Probably," Shepard held his hand flat and tipped it uncertainly from side to side, "maybe nineteen. But probably twenty."

"You don't even know?"

"I have no birth records. The first time I actually went into the system was when the Alliance processed my application, before that I didn't even exist as far as the government was concerned."

"So wait, bear with me as I do drunk math," Kaidan held up a hand. "If you're twenty now, that would have made you... fifteen when you joined the Alliance. Is that right? That can't be right." He shook his head. "What kind of fifteen year old kid joins the military?"

"The kind that's sick of people trying to kill him while he's not getting paid for it," Shepard replied, refilling all their glasses again and motioning for them to take their shots immediately. It had the stabilizing effect he'd been looking for, both of his companions lapsed into thoughtful silence.

"I shouldn't have told you," he sighed. "Now I've put you both in an awkward position."

"What? No way." Ash shook her head vehemently. "No. Shepard. I would never divulge this."

"Neither would I," Kaidan promised after just a moment of hesitation. "We've got your six, Shepard. Always."

"But both of you should divulge this," Shepard said sternly. "So as your Commander I'm putting on my stern face and telling you that protocol states this should be divulged to your commanding officer at once. And since I'm your commanding officer this actually winds up working out pretty well. I assure you, I'll pass this along the chain of command." He winked theatrically at the two of them. "Right away."

They leaned back in their seats, drunk and happy, if not entirely carefree anymore.

"So, uh, sorry about what we said about twenty year old kids in the military, commander," Ash said after a moment. "If it's any consolation, you really don't seem like you're twenty."

"I grew up in a hurry," Shepard replied. A look passed between them that Alenko did not share in.

Shepard was startled. He'd told Ramirez about his life before the Alliance, and Calhoun, but the look that passed between him and Ash was something he had never felt before. He could feel her understanding, her support, and even though their eyes broke after only a few seconds it stayed with him as he turned back to the whiskey and tipped the last of it into their glasses.

"This was really great," Ash said, raising her glass. "When you guys picked me up on Eden Prime I never guessed... it's been a great adventure. I've seen a lot of amazing things. But the best part of it has been meeting you guys."

"I'll drink to that," Kaidan raised his own glass. "I didn't know I could get along with people this well before I met you two."

"Every day we serve together is an honour and privilege," Shepard joined them. "I'm lucky to know you both."

The three of them touched their glasses together, and downed the last of the whiskey. Shepard paid their bill, as he almost always did, and the three of them began their long, teetering journey through the Citadel toward the docks. Shepard was warm, and the thought of everything being over soon no longer inspired dread in him. What was he getting so worked about in the first place? They would get this done, and collect a heap of medals, maybe even a raise, and everything would turn out.

It always did, or at least so close to always that it made little difference.

Off we go, he thought, laughing. To Virmire.

* * *

><p>AN: I edited some dialogue at the beginning that my wonderful reviewer Blahdeedah pointed out as confusing. To answer her question: my Shepard is gay. I hope the changes cleared that up. As for the supermodel comment, there are male supermodels. I think. If not, there are now because I say so. Fixed!


	9. Turning Point

A warrior who finds nothing worth dying for is not to be considered fit to live.

- The Krutt Magnar, Krogan Way of the Warrior

* * *

><p>Alright.<p>

His keen mind leapt into action. Rescue Williams, Alenko, and the salarian squad, blow up the geth, fly off into sunset. Defeat Reapers. Meet supermodel. Live for another eighty years. This would be easy. Everything was always so easy for him.

He was very smart, accustomed to making decisions quickly. He dissected his obstacles, the time allotted, the potential layout of hostiles along both routes and it took him barely a second. He went over them again, aware that he was wasting time but unwilling to accept the truth that was staring him in the face. Then he did it a third time, just to be sure, aware that the silence was lengthening. The sky was very blue, as blue as his eyes, and it stared down at him, empty, and endless, uncomprehending, unfairly beautiful. A light breeze sailed over the tree tops beyond the compound walls, a fragrant counterpoint to the warmth of the sun on his face. He could see the sea beyond the walls of the compound and the trees. He loved the sea. Seeing it always calmed him, reminded him of all the good things left in the galaxy. He tried not to look at it now.

He couldn't do it. It was a devastating realization, he had to bite down on the inside of his cheek to keep his mind from reeling. He couldn't save everyone. It had never been like this before, he'd lost people in the heat of battle, to things no one could predict. You couldn't tell where every bullet was going to be or save your men from every grenade. Sometimes you lost people, that was a part of war he had accepted.

But it had never been like this. It had never been a simple matter of not being good enough, smart enough, to do what needed to be done to. It was unimaginable. But once he accepted it, once he moved past it, something that took only moments despite the way it felt as though god himself had reached down out of the empty sky and planted a savage blow across each cheek, he knew what he had to do. He always knew what he had to do. It wasn't even really a decision. There was only one thing he could have ever really done.

"Alenko," could that really be his voice, so firm and patiently realistic? It sounded hollow in his ears. He tasted blood from his aching cheek on his tongue and felt a sudden, powerful urge to vomit that he suppressed with such force of will that it didn't even make his voice quiver. "Radio Joker and tell him to meet us at the AA tower."

The lieutenants' answer didn't even register. The world was very quiet, all he could hear was Ashley's voice in his ear. The tree tops rippled like the sea as the wind touched them. Williams was so earnest it was making his ears hurt to listen to her, completely convinced he was making the right decision, not hating him for it at all. He wished he could be as understanding as her, as compassionate.

He wished more than anything that he had something to say to her. Something meaningful. He wished he could say he was sorry, but he wasn't and lying to her at a time like this wasn't an option. She always knew when he was lying, and he couldn't be sorry for making the right decision.

For the first time in his life Shepard wished he were smarter. For the first time he felt his years, or the absence of them at least. He didn't know how to react, what to say. He reached into himself and came up with air. None of his jokes were funny at this moment. He was forced to cobble together something, so he went with the old words, passed down in one form or another from commander to soldier since the dawn of the military.

"Fight hard chief," his thoughts twisted around each other in tangles, meaningless. "Die well."

He turned to go, springing back into action on reflex. His mouth was full of blood, but he left all other traces of that moment behind. He could hear gunfire coming from the courtyard they had just left, high and clear in the clean air, and her answer whispered in his ear.

"Aye, aye sir."

* * *

><p>AN: I said no in-game scenes, but I couldn't think of a better way to frame this moment. Sorry if it bothers people! I tried to keep the copy/paste dialogue to a minimum. This is the only time I'll do it like this, promise!


	10. Connection

A/N: In case it wasn't clear, I'm not using the 'hacked' option that gives Shepard and Kaidan a romance option in the first game. In this story they've always been 'just friends.'

* * *

><p>Turning and turning in the widening gyre<p>

The falcon cannot hear the falconer;

Things fall apart; the centre cannot hold;

Mere anarchy is loosed upon the world,

The blood-dimmed tide is loosed, and everywhere

The ceremony of innocence is drowned;

The best lack all conviction, while the worst

Are full of passionate intensity.

- W.B Yeats, Human Poet

* * *

><p>It had been foolish to hope that Finch was bluffing.<p>

He'd known that, at an intellectual level, but despite his best efforts he couldn't live on intellect alone. A part of him had been secretly hoping against all logic that nothing would come of the other man's threats. Foolish. It had been very foolish.

All told, that disappointment rated pretty far down on the list of things he had to worry about. The story had broken in the same hour as their theft of the Normandy and escape of the Citadel. Everything was spinning wildly around him, and Shepard could feel his grip slipping. He was losing control at an alarming rate. When Anderson had told him to do this he had done it, automatically, obeying on military reflex as his mind still reeled with the reality he had found himself in.

When had everything gotten so serious?

He supposed the easy answer to that was when Ash died, but if he thought about it, really thought about it, he should have started taking it seriously a long time ago. But everything had just seemed so ridiculous. Just... ridiculous. All these people looking at him, at him! Looking at the dirty, thieving little street rat, and they all put their serious adult faces on. They did their best to impress upon him the weight of responsibility, the solemn duty that was expected of him and he'd met them all laughing, as he always had when anyone tried to convince him there was something he needed to pay attention to. It had been like a game, with him always one step ahead, always winning and thumbing his nose and laughing, laughing, laughing.

Shepard sighed and sat back in his chair at his desk, grinding his knuckles over his closed eyes. His screen was flashing, a video fully loaded and waiting for authorization to play. Shepard squinted at it, pressing his fingers into the throbbing pain that had taken root at each temple. He didn't play it. He didn't want to look at himself right now.

Maybe, if he'd been less of an ass, if he'd started taking this seriously earlier, maybe it wouldn't have happened like this. Maybe. It was impossible to say, really, but his mind kept coming back to the idea, no matter what direction he tried to send it.

How many times had he beaten impossible odds? He had beaten drugs and poverty, educated himself, made something out of his life. There was Elysium, Athena, his Spec Ops days in the fringe, before Normandy. But not on Virmire. Not when it really mattered.

He hit play. He didn't think anything could be more painful than going down that dark, lonely path again.

A pretty blonde reporter whose face was far too sweet and dimpled for the solemn countenance she was attempting to muster appeared on the screen, and hovering to her left a picture, no doubt cut from a video reel, of Shepard's face. Or, really, X's face. Shepard shuddered as he remembered what it was like to be so filthy all the time. One thing he never stopped appreciating about the military was access to hot showers every day.

"For those watching with younger viewers, I must warn you, the following images are disturbing."

The video was jerky, as though the person shooting it was being jostled around every few seconds and shot from chest height, most likely from a concealed camera. It showed a wall of writhing backs, dirty clothes and dirty people trying to move forward, toward something out of view. The camera surged forward, rattling like it was experiencing a seismic event, and then it was at the front of the pack and an arena was visible.

There was no other word for it, even though it was just a clear space hemmed in by stacks of steel plated shipping containers, most of them sporting weapon manufacturers logos. Shepard wondered what sort of press that was going to get them. There was blood splattered across the steel floor of the arena but its occupants weren't adding to it just yet. Shepard recognized himself, slumped over in near coma state with his arm out. He also recognized the man who was prepping a needle as his companion slapped at the abused vein in his former selves skinny arm. Arturo injected him with the drugs.

So that was good, the chipper, rational part of his brain chimed in. No video of him actually shooting himself up meant he could easily deny the extent of his former drug use. Never mind that he had shot himself up a hundred times, if it wasn't on video like this no one would ever know about it.

His former self came out of his coma like a tinker toy being wound up by a child. His head came up, his eyes focusing. Shepard watched himself look around, saw the tortured, confused expression on his face. This must have been toward the end, right before he gave up the needle and ran away from Trinidad and the Tenth Street Reds. His lips moved in the video, but there wasn't any sound and the camera was too far away anyway. Shepard knew what he was saying though. Begging not to go in again. He was tired, hungry, dying, had already taken a beating if the blood standing out on his forehead was any clue. It was impossible to tell if it had been a beating in the pit or something more casual doled out by one of his keepers.

Arturo pushed the boy to his feet and started tugging off the dirty shirt and jacket he was wearing. Shepard could figure out where this was in his life based on the constellation of scar tissue laced across his torso. He leaned forward, squinting. The broad slash that went from nipple to navel was already fully healed, as was the deep cut that had almost punctured his stomach on the left side. Even the deep stab wound in the muscle above his collar bone was there, looking red and angry but healed. Very late then. Which was bad, because the last fights had been the worst.

Once he's wondered why people liked to see the kid fights. It made more sense at a higher level, with the bare-knuckled fighting and knife rounds, because those guys had actual skills. Some of them remained, to Shepard's memory, the best fighters he had ever seen. What he understood now that he was older and had looked at that world from another perspective, was that to the people watching kid fights were more like dog fights than the adult rounds. There wasn't any point to it, no measuring of skill or finesse or strength, just two sub-human brutes, who have been beaten and starved and debased until they are no better than animals tearing each other apart.

But not him. He got beaten and starved and debased, no doubt about that, but there was always skill in him, an understanding of how to hurt people that must have been inborn because he certainly can't remember learning it anywhere. When Arturo pitched him out into the ring and he caught sight of his target the awareness of what was happening put sudden strength in him. Shepard remembered that feeling, hard and cool as dry steel, darkness that edged out the details of the world and made everything numb and shapeless and meaningless.

The other kid was a screamer. He came charging, swinging his fists with his face screwed up in an expression of pain and ecstasy. Needle marks stood out all up and down his forearms and he was spraying bullets of sweat. The boy that had once been him took a small step sideways, out of the path of his blow and delivered a clean left cross with all the strength of his legs and hips behind it. The first boy, the screamer, stumbled back choking on blood, and Shepard, or X, or whoever that was on the video screen broke his knee with an almost casual flick of his heel.

At that point a hand closed over the camera and jerked it sideways. There was a moment of darkness, the lens cracked and the video was over.

That could have been worse, the rational voice said, after all you killed that kid. Beat him to death with your bare hands. At least they didn't get THAT on video.

Shepard sighed and turned the media program off. The scar on his eyebrow was itching, the way it always did when he was stressed out. He rubbed it, screwing his eyes closed and breathing deeply. He needed to think about this.

Or maybe he didn't. After all, they were all going to be court marshaled already. That tended to happen after one absconded with the most advanced ship in the fleet chasing what everyone believes to be an insane fantasy. Sometimes he thought it might be a fantasy. That would be the easy answer to all of this. But it wasn't, so he had to suffer on.

A message appeared in the corner of his screen, informing him that someone was requesting access to his quarters. Shepard frowned, rubbed at his eyes again for a moment and then stood, squaring his shoulders and setting his jaw. It was time for damage control.

"Shepard," Kaidan sounded cautious, "I thought you were going to meet me in the hangar bay?"

Shepard blinked at him for a moment. He had no idea what the hell he was talking about for several long, awkward seconds and then realized he was right. He had been about to go and meet Kaidan in the hangar bay so they could clean their armour. A terribly sentimental gesture from two battle hardened Alliance kill-machines. It had been Shepard's idea.

"Sorry, Alenko, something just... came up," he leaned against his desk, crossing his arms over his chest. "I need to talk to you."

"Is it about that video clip or whatever?" Kaidan shrugged, he looked bored. "I don't care about that right now, Shepard. We said we were going to do this. For Ash."

Shepard stared at him for a moment, stunned. Then he nodded.

"Right. Of course," he shook himself, amazed that he could be so selfish. "For Ash."

He almost felt like smiling. Almost.

Kaidan didn't speak to him until they were almost done. They had buffed out the scratches on the steel and painted over them with the airbrush. Varnish and polish and sealants followed, and that was before they had checked any of the tech, or optimized their omnitools. It was a lot of work, and neither of them had done it in a while.

"So," he said, breaking the near total silence of the last hour, "what is it about this video clip that I'm not going to like?"

Shepard blinked, pulled out of his memories, and sighed. He slid the armour back into place of the circuitry of his hardsuit and felt it click solidly into place.

"It's from a dark place in my life. Before the Alliance."

"You said you grew up on the streets," Kaidan started replacing the armour plates that covered the delicate wires of his omni-tool. He didn't look up as he worked. "And that man outside of Chora's Den, the one you hit, he talked about a gang. The Tenth Street Reds."

Shepard stopped what he was doing. He turned and looked directly at Kaidan, waiting until the other man did the same. Their eyes met. Kaidan looked troubled, a frown pushing wrinkles up across his forehead.

"If you try to stonewall me right now, Alenko, I swear to god-" he cut himself off, taking a step back and letting himself calm down.

"I looked at the video on my omni-tool before I came up, Shepard. It's pretty dark stuff," Kaidan rubbed at the back of his neck, avoiding eye contact, "I don't know what to think about it. About you."

"We're heading into a war zone, Alenko, with the fate of the galaxy on our shoulders. This is a really fucking inconvenient time for you to have a crisis of faith."

"I realize that."

"I need you to trust me."

"I realize that to. So explain it to me. Make me trust you."

Shepard stared at him for a moment, going over his options in his head. Lying was appealing, but his stomach did that uncomfortable twisting thing that told him it would be wrong. He respected this man, relied on him, and considered him a friend. Shepard balled his hand into a fist and hit the top of the armour bench, hard enough to send a shock up his arm all the way to his shoulder. His mouth felt like it was full of cement.

A secret, if it is big and heavy enough, can become one of the most difficult burdens to bear in the galaxy. Worse that being tasked with saving all organic life from the hunger of sentient nightmare machines. Shepard had carried this secret for so long, all the worst and most evil parts of it, that it had become almost impossible to release. He had held onto it so tightly and for so long that letting go of it was painful.

But he got it out. Halting and stammering occasionally, it all came flooding out of him. Something broke and there was nothing he could do to hold it in. The streets, the gangs, the drugs, the pits, it all came rushing out. It was harder than it had any right to be, but he got it out.

Kaidan didn't speak at all. Shepard was too deep into his own memories to evaluate his expressions or his body language. He barely seemed aware that he was even there half the time. When he ran out of words, he paused, and took a deep breath as though coming up for air. It was only then that he actually looked up and their eyes met again.

"Shepard," Kaidan rubbed at his eyes, "I'm sorry that happened to you. I can't... imagine what it must have been like."

"It doesn't matter," Shepard shook his head.

"Of course it matters," Kaidan set his jaw hard. "How can you say it doesn't matter?"

"I'm not saying what I did wasn't horrible. I know it was. But I don't think that I can do anything to make up for it in prison. That's one reason it doesn't matter, and you know it's a good one," Shepard hoped he knew.

"But the other reason it doesn't matter is because that person, that life, doesn't exist anymore. I wasn't myself for a long time, and where I found myself, what matters more to me than anything else in the galaxy, is the Alliance and what it stands for. My life, my real life began when I left all that behind. I'm here, I'm committed and I'm not that person anymore. If you believe that, then you can trust me."

"I do trust you," Kaidan said softly. "Of course I do. I... I'm sorry. Everything that's happened... it just threw me a little off course."

"I get it," Shepard assured him. "You know, it's funny. It hurts to talk about it now, because it means remembering that no matter what I do and who I become I'll have always been... like that. But now that I've actually gone and said it all... I feel better. Clean."

He clapped Kaidan lightly on the shoulder and let his hand rest there. "Thanks Kaidan. I meant what I said that night. I'm lucky to know you, and I can't think of anyone I'd rather throw myself into hell with."

"I'm honoured, sir," Kaidan said wryly. Their eyes met.

Shepard wasn't sure exactly what he saw there. Up close like this the lieutenant's eyes were very dark, his gaze intense. Shepard hadn't felt this close to someone in a long time. He could feel the muscles in the other mans arm shift as he uncrossed them, and still their eyes lingered, locked together. The air between them felt charged, different than it had a few moments before.

If things had been better, if the world had been a little less flawed and painful things might have been different between them. Shepard didn't know it when he dropped his hand and looked away but there was a day coming that he would look back on this, on the moment he realized what was happening between them, and regret letting it slip away. But in that moment, after baring so much, Shepard shied away from letting any more of himself slip out of control. He put a lid on it, filed it away, resolved that he would deal with it later.

"I should go talk to Vakarian. I'm going to want him with us," he said, glancing across the hangar bay.

"I'll take care of your guns," Kaidan replied, turning back to the bench.

"Yeah," Shepard hovered, reluctant to leave the moment but without any excuse to stay, "thanks, Alenko."

"No problem Shepard."


	11. Inevitable

A dying man needs to die, as a sleepy man needs to sleep, and there comes a time that it is wrong, as well as useless, to resist.

- Senai Destr

* * *

><p>Part of being a soldier is knowing you could die at any moment. They covered themselves with steel and shields and barriers but in the end each of them always knew that any fight could be their last, any enemy could be the one. All his life Shepard had, surprisingly, found that to be comforting. Each fight was just as important as the last. Each enemy was dangerous as any other. Thinking like that kept him focused, stopped him from getting ahead of himself.<p>

He realized that he was dead about three minutes before it actually started being true. The switchboard on his suit was lit up, flashing warnings at him about burns and breaches. The vacuum was getting in, and the air was all running out. Only a whisper got through to him when he tried to breathe, and it wasn't even close to enough.

He spent a moment looking for likely rescue scenarios and came up empty. No. This was the end. He turned off the damage displays that were playing on the inside of his visor. The suit stabbed him, filled him with medigel and stims, but it couldn't really do much to delay the inevitable at that point.

There's an awful lot of pain in the beginning. His body twisted and his hands clawed his throat with animal instinct. His jaw locked so tightly he wondered if his teeth would break. He wanted to scream. He needed to scream. He could hear a sound like a dry wood crackling as it's consumed by fire and realized that his brain was dying. He listened to his brain die, and he didn't scream.

Then it hurt less. That was a relief.

His thoughts became monolithic and slow, they ground against one another and made his eyes water. His mouth was full of blood, and he gasped, just once, and it went dribbling down his chin.

He'd been so focused over the last three months, like a laser on a target. They had been great times, full of victory. The geth were weak, they were driving them back and searching for clues of the Reapers as they went. They were saving lives, being heroes. It had been a great time. He had never been expected a giant fucking spaceship to fly out of nowhere and destroy him.

It was funny. Nothing had really seemed funny since Ash died, but this was funny. If he could have laughed, he would have.

He had no control of his body. His limbs drifted limp in the weightless vacuum, but he had spun naturally and faced the planet now. Alchera. White and frigid and luminous against the blackness all around him. There was fire in the lower atmosphere, his ship dissolving, escape pods. His mind whirred with sudden urgency as he remembered sending Alenko for the escape pods. He didn't know if he, or anyone else, had made it out alive. He never would.

There were worse lives he could have had. His mind spun backwards, looking for regrets and came up with surprisingly few. He had done a lot of bad things in his life, but so much good too. He regretted moments not taken, opportunities not seized. He thought about Virmire. He regretted not putting the moves on Alenko when he had the chance. There had been... something there. Now he would never know what. That was sad. He was sad about that.

Mostly he was relieved. The tension went out of him in one moment, and his vision was dimming. He wasn't really thinking anymore, he wasn't capable of it, but relief washed over him in a wave that turned terror into ecstasy. No more fighting. No more pain. He'd done his best, and that was all anyone could ever do.

He felt accomplished. Redeemed. Like he was sliding into a bath of warm light, and he reached out with everything that was left of him and found Ash's face in the haze. He'd be seeing her again soon.

His eyes closed, and he lost consciousness. Thirty seconds later, he died.

* * *

><p>AN: Just a warning, there are dark times ahead for Shepard. I always thought the game really failed to elaborate on what Shepard actually felt about being brought back from the dead and it made him kind of robot-ish. This Shepard will definitely be feeling the effects of the Lazarus Project much more acutely.

Also, you can expect updates to go down in frequency a little from now on. I had a lot of the last few chapters already written, and I've had a lot of spare time over the last week, but both of those situations are at their end now. Sorry!


	12. Career Soldier

Out of suffering and fire emerge the strongest souls. The most massive characters are seared with scars.

-Shaelgrath, Krogan Battlemaster

* * *

><p>In the beginning, he was born.<p>

That's where the story started to get confusing. Intelligence has been proved empirically to be, in most instances, determined by genetic background rather than random chance. Not in all cases, but it most. A random genius popping up in a mire of genetic backwash like Trinidad was laughably unlikely, he knew because he'd done the math once and laughed at it.

So, logically, if the chances of him actually having been born in Trinidad were that remote he should look elsewhere. He was definitely Latino, if not necessarily Cubano. He'd searched for reports throughout South America of missing and dead children in the years before he had a memory, but nothing aligned itself. He sent his DNA to a few likely cases and it came back negative for a match.

He came from nowhere. An anomaly with no explanation behind it, a roll of the dice that had apparently panned out rather well for God or Fate or whoever was rolling.

But he was born, and for some reason he ended up in Trinidad. That much is certainly a fact.

If there is a Hell on Earth and it is not Trinidad it must at least look an awful lot like it. He remembered thinking that as a child, and when he got older he thought it was a strange thought for a child to have. He has a very good memory, it comes with being smart like he is, and his memories of his time there have always been crystal clear.

Growing up was hard. Over time the memories lost their ability to draw blood, but he could never dream of denying what he was. He can remember the first fights, before the drugs started killing him, he can remember how elated he'd felt to finally have power over someone else. Those memories are worse than any other.

The Alliance had saved him from that. When the other recruits were jostling each other and boasting while the Admiral gave his inauguration speech Shepard had been still as stone. His face was still impressively bruised from his altercation with Arturo and his stooges in the alleyway five days prior. It had got him several sideways looks, as did his freshly coloured crimson hair and his ratty clothes. He'd managed to buy better, cleaner ones than what he'd had before, but he was still dirty and he still looked like a street kid.

Every word the Admiral said was precious to him. He soaked it in, felt it nourish whatever new thing had sprung up in him and driven him from the streets of Trinidad. It was like food for his starving soul. If he closed his eyes and thought he could still bring every word of it up from memory, with no fumbling or mistakes. It was the first time in his life he had ever heard of anything that sounded like it was worth believing in. He believed in it instantly, passionately, with all the strength his stunted black soul could muster.

When he said the words and swore his life and service to the ideals of the Alliance, he meant it. The Alliance saved him, and for that it got his life, and his loyalty. Above and beyond all other things, he believed in the Alliance and he would fight for it until the day he died. He'd made that vow at fifteen and spent every day of his life living up to it.

And it had never done him any harm. Even when times were bad, even when he was wading through hell with every muscle screaming, he had always known he was exactly where he was supposed to be. And in between the hell he had met people that made him feel like an actual, for real, totally not faking it human being. He spent the last years of his life living well, and he died for something he believed in.

Some things were simply meant to be.

And some things were most certainly not meant to be. No one was meant to come back from death. No one was meant to walk around carrying that coldness inside them.

It was... difficult at first. That was to be expected, he thought, but there wasn't really any time to deal with it. He was grateful, in a way, for how things had turned out. Work focused him. Facts and data spreads and tech charts were more therapeutic than anything else he'd found in the galaxy. A few hours with the new omni-tool specs and his thoughts had ground down to computer level, all numbers and jargon. That he could handle. That was easy, like not really thinking at all.

So he worked, ate, and slept. He found he didn't have to do much of the last two anymore. His appetite was non-existent, and Miranda spouted off some regenerative neurosurgery techno-babble to explain why he never really seemed to need more than four hours sleep at a time. He watched his muscles get sinewy and hard under his skin. Whatever Cerberus had done to him made him stronger, faster, more efficient in every way. He hated it. His body didn't make sense to him anymore. He spent hours exercising, trying to get used to it, and he made some progress but it was never enough. He felt like he was walking around in someone else's skin.

Sometimes he just wanted to grab Miranda by the shoulder, shake her and tell her all of this, all of it, has been some sort of huge mistake. The wrong mind had come back to his body, and she should just pull the plug, put him back in the ground, or wherever it was they found him, and forget about this whole stupid, insane, unbelievable plan. He never did it, of course, because it wasn't a mistake, he was Shepard. But sometimes that didn't matter. Sometimes he wanted it to be a mistake.

"How's the memory?" Miranda asked.

Her voice was like a jolt of electricity, shocking him out of his own thoughts and plunging him back into attack mode. He'd been trying to figure out if she made him so angry because he hated her or because he hated what she'd done to him. It's probably a little bit of both. Her ice-queen facade made talking to her feel like he was stabbing himself in the brain with needles every few seconds. He put up with her though. He was even polite. Most of the time.

"My memories are fine, Lawson," he turned his shoulder on her, purposefully.

"You seemed a little woozy in the shuttle ride. I wanted to see if things were getting clearer."

Shepard ran a hand over his face, feeling the armour plates on his fingers catching on his brand new scars. They itched constantly, but his self control was absolute. He never scratched. Chakwas would kill him if he started scratching them.

"I said I'm fine. Is it pursuant to Cerberus protocols to initiate personal conversation in the field, Lawson?" He looked over his shoulder at her. His new eyes were better by far than his old, organic ones. He could read the tension standing out in her neck and around her eyes with ease, see the muscles in her legs and back tighten as she stood up straighter and gathered herself for the offensive. Miranda held everything in, he could almost see her curling in to protect herself. He smiled to himself and turned away, examining the Omega skyline.

"It's hardly personal, commander," his newly improved ear drums could filter out the squalid ambient ruckus of Omega and zero in on her bringing up her omni-tool. He glanced over his shoulder again and watched her fingers move, reading her keystrokes as easily as if he were leaning over her shoulder.

Unresponsive. Remote. Unemotional.

"Right. I might think our mission is to retrieve Archangel but-"

"Your mission is to retrieve Archangel, commander," Miranda frowned and typed in 'arrogant' before deleting it and replacing it with 'passive aggressive.' "My mission, on the other hand, is to ensure you continue to operate as required by my organization. Now, how is your memory?"

"I. Said. I'm. Fine." Shepard turned back to Omega, ignoring her as she continued to type. "I don't want to play shrink with you right now, Lawson. And don't think you can get me interested in doctor either."

"I wouldn't dream of it," she closed her omni-tool. He could feel her standing straight and angry behind him, hear her shifting her weight from side to side, hear the carbon fibre of her gloves creaking as she balled her hands up into angry fists.

Shepard didn't really know what she had expected from him. Had she not read his service record? There was a score of commendations and an impressive number of medals in there, but the majority of the data volume was taken up by commentaries on his generally pigs-ass-stubborn personality and penchant for insulting superior officers. The smile didn't make it to his face, but he took personal pleasure in listening to her storm away to check their departure time with the Blue Suns driver.

"Are you really Commander Shepard?" Zaeed asked, sliding in from his peripheral vision and settling back against the steel siding that had been crudely welded to the side of the balcony to make it 'safe.'

Shepard arched an eyebrow at him, and turned a little so they were facing each other directly. He looked the aged mercenary up and down, as though seeing him for the first time. Appraising him. Zaeed waited for him to be done with a bored expression on his face. Shepard felt something alarmingly like a smile tugging at the corner of his lips and for no reason at all he suppressed it, pushed it down and kept his face smooth and neutral as a stone carving.

"Why do you ask?"

"Well, I watched you on the vids. Your interviews and shit, after that business on the Citadel. Always thought you were a bit of an ass, to be honest. Stupid haircut. Stupid smile on your face all the time," he pulled out a cigarette and offered him the pack. He just snorted when Shepard shook his head no.

"You didn't strike me as a fan. Did you want me to sign your chest plate?"

"There, that sounds more like it. But black hair, angry look on your face all the damn time... where were you really for those two years, Shepard? What's got you looking like the world is ending?"

"You've got a lot of questions for a mercenary that's only here for a paycheck."

"You don't get this old in my line of work if you're not good at surviving. I saw you down in those slums, Shepard, I know what you are. You're a damn good soldier, and I know good, but more importantly you're a born killer and you've got all the instincts that requires. So if something's got you looking worried like that, it's something I ought to be worried about to." Zaeed lit his cigarette with an impossibly antique lighter that made Shepard want to laugh.

"I really was dead for two years, Zaeed."

The mercenary studied him for a moment. The eye on the scarred side of his face was milky blue and blind but the other was wickedly sharp and intelligent. Shepard spared a moment to think that, if his life had gone just a little differently, he would not be so terribly different from Zaeed. They were cut from the same cloth. He wasn't sure how he felt about that revelation.

"No shit," Zaeed laughed and puffed on his smoke. "Really? Well I guess that explains the angry look." He paused, exhaling a cloud of pungent grey smoke. "What was that like, then?"

Shepard looked up at him sharply. No one had asked him that question yet, and he found himself totally unprepared to answer it. His stone face felt close to rupturing for a moment but underneath he was still stone, still in control. The moment passed and he shrugged, resettling the weight of his armour.

"It was cold," he said, off-handedly.

The boy arrived then, so they all packed themselves into the small car and took off. Shepard stared out the window at the dirty sprawl of Omega and thought of Cuba. But there was no sea here, no bastion of sanity in the violence and poison air. He turned away from the window and fiddled with the new tech on his omni-tool instead. It was terrible to be so behind the cutting edge in tech. Everything he knew was horribly outdated, even the guns worked differently now. He felt like a relic, grasping at a new world and slowly, oh so slowly, discovering he didn't want to have any part of it.

* * *

><p>"Commander," Miranda called for him as the ensigns hefted the stretcher and headed for the elevator. "If I could just-"<p>

"Later," Shepard ordered briskly.

"It's not like you can-"

"I said, later!" He barked, shooting her a poisonous look over his shoulder as the doors to the elevator opened. Garrus' head was encased in a balloon of field dressings, most of them already soaking through with dark blue blood.

Shepard could feel his heart thundering wildly in his chest, and he was sweating more than he had when he'd been charging across a battle field or trying to take down an airship from the ground. Cerberus had streamlined his body, it worked better than it ever had before, but even they couldn't do anything to help him deal with the panic that was driving all his senses into overdrive. Turian blood had a funny smell to it, a hint of tar and cinnamon. Shepard squeezed into the elevator beside the ensigns.

Mordin was already in the med-bay when they arrived. He ordered the ensigns out and when Shepard hovered, unsure of what to do he rounded on him with a scalpel in one hand.

"Not going?"

"No."

"Help, then."

Mordin made him wash his hands, and then he was holding Garrus' face down, pinching arteries as Mordin readied clamps, holding wads of cloth in place to soak up blood as Mordin examined the burnt, gaping hole in his friends face. After what seemed like forever Mordin reached for his tools and shooed him away. Doctor Chakwas had been readying equipment but she replaced him now.

"Can't do anything else, Shepard," Mordin informed him briskly. "Wash up and apply ointment to counteract possible allergic reaction to Turian fluids."

"Is he going to make it?"

"Turian healthy, sturdy, has other scars. Survivor. And he has a very good doctor," Mordin didn't look up, but he must have felt the stare Chakwas was giving him. "Two very good doctors."

Shepard looked at them bent over Garrus' prone body and swallowed hard. After a moment he turned, and washed the blood off his hands.

He left the med-bay with his jaw set. He had responsibilities. He couldn't afford to get bogged down in this. He knew Mordin and Chakwas would get the job done. And Mordin was right, Garrus was a survivor; if he could survive Ilos and Omega he could survive that. He looked over his shoulder, felt the grim lines of his face soften for a moment. It felt strange to have a real expression on there again.

"Don't die, Garrus." He said softly. "I need you here."

He found Miranda in her office. He walked in and took the seat across from her without being invited. They studied each other for a moment.

"Sometimes I have trouble putting things in order," he opened. She looked surprised, and he ignored it. "I have a lot of violent memories and sometimes they get kind of... tangled. It's getting better. And it doesn't affect my performance or my ability to lead."

"Your thinking is clear?" Miranda leaned forward, studying him. "You don't get confused?"

"We've fought together enough for you to answer that question for yourself, Lawson. Have you ever seen me out of control?" Shepard met her eyes. He could feel her discomfort. The mechanical eyes had none of the soft, expressive qualities of their organic counterparts. They were like wet marbles, hard and lifeless and alien in his human face.

"There was that scene in the hangar bay," she said cautiously.

"I wasn't out of control. My friend had just had half his face blown off and you were trying to hold me up with some dick-measuring bullshit. Was whatever you had to say to me really that important, Lawson?"

They studied each other for a moment.

"No," she admitted finally. "It obviously wasn't."

"What did you want to say?"

"That we needed to have this conversation," she sighed, leaning back in her chair. "I don't want us to be enemies, Shepard. I'm not looking for a friend, but it doesn't help either of us if we're at odds."

"I agree," Shepard stood up. "So you'll have to sort that out."

"What does that mean?" Miranda frowned, sitting forward in her chair again and glaring up at him.

"Figure it out, Lawson. I'm not Cerberus. I'm Alliance, and while I might have to bite the pillow with the Illusive Man I don't recognize any authority you think you might have. You deal with that in whatever manner you see fit, but you deal with it." Shepard's face was stone as he looked back at her. "That's an order."

Up until that moment he hadn't been sure he was really the superior officer here. Miranda obviously had her own agenda, and her position adjacent to the Illusive Man muddied the chain of command. More than that, she was obviously used to being obeyed. There was an air of expectation about her, as though she were entitled to Shepard's respect and counsel. He had to make it abundantly clear that this was not reality.

"Understood," she said after a moment, settling back into her seat. Her eyes were glacial. There was a moment of silence while they just continued to look at each other.

"Sir," she finally added, stiffly.

"Thank you," he saluted her, the crisp, all-the-proper-angles salute that had been drilled into him through two and a half years of military training. He felt almost like himself again. He almost smiled. Almost.


	13. Burning Bright

When the stars threw down their spears,

And water'd heaven with their tears,

Did he smile, his work to see?

Did he who made the lamb make thee?

Tiger, tiger burning bright

In the forests of the night,

What immortal hand or eye

Dare frame thy fearful symmetry?

- William Blake, Human Poet

* * *

><p>Days on the SR2 had a way of melting into each other, a senseless stream of hours populated by data and painful formal conversation. He had been trained for command at Calypso Technical Academy, one of the best schools in the galaxy. He knew the tricks for inspiring respect, fear and camaraderie. But what had once come so effortlessly to him had become an arduous chore. He spent every conversation looking for a way out, and though he was a good liar and really wanted to talk he left every conversation relieved that it was over.<p>

He spent the majority of his time at his terminal or working on his omni-tool. His thoughts were clean and focused, uncluttered. It had taken him slightly more than two weeks to get caught up on two years worth of battle tech. He sent his attack droid floating around his quarters, burning playing cards out of the air as he flicked them at him. He read, extensively. Technology, population charts, Prothean discoveries and, of course, everything he could find about the Collectors. He combed the Cerberus network and educated himself on two years of shifting politics, Alliance expansion, fleet movements, covert intelligence and cutting edge science. He filled himself with data, until it shut out all of his more complex thoughts.

Intelligence had been his saving grace before, and he reached out to it again. Emotions were black, snarled, complicated things. It was so much easier to let himself be numb.

He slept infrequently, and he had bad dreams.

It was the ships night cycle, a six hour period of dimmed lights that was supposed to stabilize the moods of crew members by simulating a more organic environment. Shepard had read the studies and found the science dubious at best, but he liked the night cycle. People unconsciously walked softer and spoke quietly. His cybernetic senses were very sensitive and though it had been almost a month he still wasn't used to them. It was easier to go out and about during the night cycle.

It was also the only time that Jack every ventured above the engineering deck, mostly to raid the mess for what everyone was calling food these days. Today she also carried an armful of books from the ship shelves in the observation deck.

Shepard was attempting to eat, but like so much else that had become a chore. Protein gruel was a tasteless, gluey wad that contained all the protein nutrients an active soldier needed. Hard tack, a square biscuit with the consistency of a petrified sponge provided vitamin and mineral nutrients. The enhanced vitamins in the water gave it a chemical aftertaste that lingered past everything else. All in all, it was an unappetizing meal and Shepard had yet to discover he had an appetite for anything.

He was spooning gruel down his throat when Jack paused by the mess table and gave him a brazen, uncommunicative look.

"Do you know what they say?" She asked. She had a habit of sticking out her jaw when she was talking to him, like she was ready for a fight.

"I know what a lot of people say, you'll have to be more specific." Shepard found the best way to meet her was with stone. That was the way he met most people these days, but it was particularly effective on Jack.

"I mean Lawson and the Illusive Dick-Head," Jack's red lips curled back over her teeth in a snarl, "they say you're afraid to go back to the Citadel. That's why you haven't picked up that thief yet, even though you're past due."

"Is that what they say? Interesting."

Shepard had a theory the false darkness was what gave Jack the courage she needed to venture above her cave in the engineering deck. Of course he knew better than to ever, ever mention that to her. Usually she was up and gone but he suspected the absence of other crew members had given her the opening she needed to start this conversation.

"You don't have anything to say to that?" She asked, sneering. Jack never made any secret about how she felt about him, Shepard had to give her that. He appreciated it.

"I said it was interesting," he replied, shrugging. "I'm not going to tell them they're wrong. Are you?"

She laughed, resettling her burden and studied him in that predatory way she studied everything.

"William Blake," Shepard broke the moment of silence that hung between them, pointing at the book jutting out from under her elbow. "Pretty old school, Jack."

"What chicks with tattoo's can't like the Romantics?" She asked, pushing the book further into her armload of provisions so the spine was no longer legible. She narrowed her eyes at him. "That's Romantics with a capital R. If you crack wise right now I'm going to blow your head off."

"Noted. Anyway, I was going to say that I understand why you like them. I like them too," he spooned gruel into his mouth. It was texture with no flavour, a mealy slime that stuck to the back of his throat. "Especially Blake."

Jack held herself like the feral dogs in Trinidad when you offered them a scrap, always on the brink of running as they examined what you had to offer them and decided if it was worth the risk. They rarely decided it was worth the risk, and neither did Jack. This time though, because they were alone in the mess hall and because Shepard was more interested in fighting through another meal he had no real desire to eat, she seemed to decide it was worth it. She sank onto the edge of the bench opposite him.

"You read poetry?" She asked, cocking one of her perfectly shaped eyebrows at him. Her voice dripped with mockery.

"I could say the same thing to you," Shepard replied, glancing up at her as he hacked at the hard tack until a manageable hunk crumbled off one corner. He chewed it with determination. Eating was making him feel sick to his stomach.

"Yeah, I guess so. But I don't know Shepard, poetry is all about passion. I might be a lot of things, but I don't think anyone could tell me I don't have passion. You on the other hand," she smirked, "have all the fire of a frozen stone."

"Very poetic," Shepard nodded. "I guess it's more accurate to say I used to read poetry. I haven't been able to find the time for it lately." Or anything. Life was work now, and nothing else.

Jack studied him in silence for a moment as he gulped water to help him wash down the clinging crumbs of the hard tack.

"Do you remember when you told me we weren't so different?" She asked suddenly. Her gaze was intense, more intense than it had any right to be. He'd just been trying to eat for once, he couldn't remember the last time he had.

"I do," he wiped his mouth and pushed his tray away. He couldn't struggle through that and this conversation at the same time. He leaned back in his seat and gestured for her to hand him the book. Jack spilled her provisions out on the table and sorted through them for a moment before she found it.

"What did you mean by that?" Her eyes were narrow, dangerous slits. He'd seen that look on her before, and didn't like to be its target. "We seem pretty different to me."

"We're two sides of the same coin," Shepard replied, flipping through the book. It was Blake's Songs of Innocence and Experience, fully illuminated with all his original etchings. Shepard felt a pang somewhere in his chest as he remembered himself, in another life, reading a book very similar to this one. "I was a lot like you once."

"Angry?" Jack's pouted at him, her eyes skeptical. "Frustrated with the world? Hardened by your experiences?" She rolled her eyes. "Don't psychoanalyze me, Shepard."

"I don't need to psychoanalyze you to understand what it's like, Jack. I know." He found the poem he was looking for. A grinning tiger looked up at him from the depths of a black jungle.

"You understand what, exactly?"

"What it's like to be an animal. To be brought so low you actually stop being human. To live the rest of your life knowing that it's impossible to ever be normal, that you'll never find a place in this galaxy that feels comfortable. I know those feelings," he caught her eyes, refused to release them. They stared at each other.

"Because of your poor, disadvantaged childhood on the streets," Jack asked finally, "or because you read some Cerberus head-report-?"

"I've read a lot of what Cerberus has on file about you Jack, but I don't need their psych evaluations to understand pain. I understand what happened to you because of what happened to me."

She scoffed, standing and gathering her things together.

"You can keep that," she said when he tried to hand the book back to her, "I don't feel like reading it anymore."

There was a time, he thought, when he would have been able to make this conversation turn out the way he wanted but he couldn't figure out how he might have done it. Trying to touch Jack was like reaching into a pit full of razors.

"Thanks for the heads-up about the Illusive Dick-Head," he said, turning back to his meal. "I might call him that the next time he rings me up for a chat."

Jack didn't laugh. Hadn't he been funny once? It was hard to remember being that person. His life seemed to be composed in compartments. He was never the same for very long. He thought about what she'd said after she left as he finished force feeding his unresponsive stomach.

The Citadel. Even thinking about it sent a prickle of cold sweat running down his spine. Miranda and the Illusive Man were right, he was afraid. But a Commander didn't admit that to anyone, not even to himself. Especially not to himself.

The station itself didn't hold any special terror for him, and he definitely wasn't afraid of the Council. But the Citadel represented many things, and it held many memories. Most of them were good. Varren burgers and oceans of liquor with Alenko and Williams, blowing up action figures with Tali, traipsing drunk with Garrus through the back alleys and picking fights with racist salarians, laughter and ego and victory. All the things that had composed his former life.

And now he was... whoever he was. And his life was... whatever it was. And none of that, especially not the laughter, was a part of anything anymore. Knowing that, what benefit could there be to going back there? All it would do is remind of what he once had and what he could never have again. That, in and of itself, was not what scared him. Memories and change had long ago lost any power they had to influence his decision.

What scared him was the reality of the place, and the people who inhabited it. How was he supposed to talk to Anderson? How was he supposed to explain this to him or try to justify what he was doing? He hadn't cared enough to do it with anyone else, but he'd have to say something to Anderson. One didn't lie to the human Councillor, but more importantly one didn't lie to their oldest, dearest, truest friend.

There are some things that a man just doesn't do.

The thought was like a slap, like a dash of cold water, like a sudden breath of air after too long underwater. Shepard dropped his fork, and the sound it made as it clattered across the table and fell on the floor. He bent down and picked it up with shaking hands, replacing it with his mostly uneaten food. His mind felt numb, and when he tried to think back he found his emotions sluggish and unresponsive as they ever were like he was trying to think through syrup.

Shepard shook himself and smoothed the frown lines away from his forehead. He could feel the deep wrinkle that only showed itself when he was truly upset settled down the centre of his forehead and ran his fingers over it. A few deep breaths and his hands were steady, his face was clear, and he was in control again.

He had incineration tech to review. Drive core advances to familiarize himself with. He was downloading a trilogy on supersymmetric string theory and the holographic principle. There was really nothing he needed on the Citadel anyway, nothing urgent at least, and other things really needed to take precedence. The Krogan he needed to collect. The Collectors he needed to destroy. Supersymmetric string theory was really very interesting.

Shepard got up and scrapped his tray into the organic recycling unit. His hands were steady as a surgeon's. If anyone had been around to see him at that moment they would have thought that nothing was wrong with him at all.

He had intended to return the book Jack had left with him to the observation deck, but suddenly he didn't want to run the risk of bumping into someone who might expect him to talk to them. He opened it as he waited for the elevator and scanned the contents. Titles leapt out of him, connected to poetry he'd once loved. He opened to the first as the doors slid open, just distracting himself until he got up to the real reading that was waiting for him in his room.

Three hours later he hadn't put the book down for an instant. Of course, it was still just a distraction. Everyone got distracted once in a while. It wasn't like poetry, or varren burgers, or action figures really mattered at all, not when faced with serious work. His face was a piece of stone, assembled into something that could barely be called an expression.

If anyone had been around to see him at that moment they would have thought there was nothing wrong. Nothing wrong at all.


	14. Old Habits

Few people have ever wished to have a purely rational life. Even smart, logical, clever men usually wish for a life warmed by passion, loyalty and love.

- Samantha Landry, Human Singer

* * *

><p>He wasn't sure what he had expected and that, more than anything, made him crazy.<p>

He was always on top of his game, always ready for everything. By the time his initial predictions failed to align themselves he was already past them, already working on the next step, the next move, the next problem. He was never off-balance, and in the rare times he was caught by surprise he knew better than to let it show. That was who he used to be, at least.

Now he satisfied himself with not letting it show, and hoped that was enough.

He'd known Kaidan was here. The entire shuttle ride to the surface of Horizon he had felt downright jittery under his stone face. While they were fighting he had been his usual self, mission focused, grim and terrible and savage. Even Jack had trouble keeping up, because this time it wasn't the mission parameters outlined on his omni-tool, abstract contact points without context or meaning, that were important.

He checked every pod, every shadow, every corner, every frozen, terrified face. Seeing that ship moving away from him into the sky had been physically painful, like every organ was twisting itself around its neighbour inside his chest. Seeing him step out from behind those shipping containers, unharmed but so angry and accusatory... that had been worse.

It had been one of the worst moments of his life, and he included his time as X in that equation. Seeing Kaidan turn away from him had made him feel small, and traitorous, and so alone.

Garrus was a great friend, as stalwart and loyal as any Turian had ever been, and though he never knew how to communicate it to him Shepard hoped Garrus realized how much it meant to have him on the ship. Sometimes just knowing he was there in the forward battery helped, especially on those days when he felt like every part of his life before now had just been a dream.

But Kaidan was...

He was...

He was right, of course. When you said it all out loud it sounded insane, and the parts that didn't sound insane sounded like they were taken almost verbatim from Blasto IV, the one where the evil Volus crime lord catches Blasto and puts him in the pod for six months to reprogram him into the perfect hit man. He didn't know anything about Cerberus, or the tech they'd seeded his body with, except for what they chose to tell him about it. He knew he was being lied to, or at least that the truth was being denied to him. He could have been brainwashed, manipulated, or controlled.

He could have been, but he wasn't. He knew that, because he knew that if Cerberus really was intent on controlling him they would have done a better job putting his head back together. But he couldn't tell Kaidan that. He couldn't tell Kaidan anything important at all, all he could do was stand back and let the other man unload two years of grief on him. He'd taken it with a stone face and a few non-committal, semi-apologetic sentences that felt like they had been put together by someone else.

Shepard ground his teeth together, feeling the muscles of his jaw lock tight. Though his face was stony as ever he felt like his emotions were whirling around him, a storm of black fire that didn't touch the air in the shuttle. The tangles, the complicated snarls of regret and longing and hope and fear had all been burnt away. He had something now, something clear and pure and simple burning in his centre.

Anger. He was very, very angry. Angry at himself, angry at Kaidan, angry at Cerberus and angry at the whole black damn unfair universe.

As much sense as Kaidan had made, as much as Shepard understood how suspicious his story was, he was not feeling kind or forgiving. If Kaidan was standing in front of him he might have forgone the stony, uncompromising professionalism and had Jack blow his head off.

He had never been the kind of man who made friends. He attracted people, almost unconsciously sometimes, but they were almost exclusively military people. One moment you could trust a man to watch your back and the next he was halfway across the galaxy on a whole other mission that had nothing to do with you. Maybe they meant to write, but few of them ever did. There were exceptions to this rule, of course. Ramirez and Calhoun were the most prominent, but there had been others. Joyous Jane, the dour-faced recruit who had stood beside him during the admiral's inauguration speech, Felton, the brothers Nox and Trelford, and of course, always, Anderson. These people he considered his friends and he thought that they probably felt the same way about him, or at least they had two years ago.

Ashley and Kaidan were something different, 'friends' didn't seem like it was powerful enough to explain how he'd felt about them. Shepard had never in his life had anything that even resembled a family, but he thought that it might be something like that. He would have killed for them, and he would have died for them instantly, without question or hesitation, if anyone had ever asked him to. He loved them. The realization came after it was too late to tell either of them, but he did. Or he had. He hadn't been able to sort out whether he still felt anything that intense since coming back.

He knew Ash had felt the same way, she had proved it the way only soldiers did. Thinking about her still had enough power to make Shepard feel like he was a real person.

And Kaidan was...

He was...

Shepard resisted the urge to put his head in his hands, though he wasn't sure if anyone would have noticed if he did. Garrus was staring into nothingness, his face so still Shepard should have taken notes for his own efforts in stoicism. Occasionally the mandible on the scarred side of his face would twitch involuntarily and he would rub the cybernetic sheath that encased that side of his head. Shepard had once observed that the stiller a Turian got the more angry they generally were, but he didn't know what had Garrus so choked up at this particular moment. He should have asked, but he didn't.

Jack was smoking, her feet up on the bench beside her. She was almost sprawled, her posture careless and languid as a housecat in a sunbeam. The smoke smelled foul, but it didn't bother his eyes like it used to, another benefit of cybernetics. It was just one more thing Shepard didn't care enough about to notice. He wondered if Jack had a flask. He could use a drink. He hadn't had a drop since their victory party, after Saren.

"Jack," he was talking before he realized it, "do you have a flask?"

She cocked an eyebrow at him and sat up a little straighter. Even Garrus broke himself out of whatever funk he was absorbed it and turned to look at Shepard, his mandibles twitching.

"Are you serious?"

"Have you ever known me to not be serious?" He asked her.

"I have," Garrus chimed in from the side.

"Shut it, Vakarian," that was something he might have said two years ago. He turned back to Jack. "Do you have a flask or not?"

"Of course I have a flask," Jack produced it from the folds of her baggy prison fatigues and threw it to him underhand.

Shepard caught it and turned it over in his hands. There was a score of soot and half-melted steel in the corner but it appeared to be mostly intact. He cracked it open and a smell like moonshine, cleaning solvents and gasoline wafted out.

"What is this, rocket fuel?" He asked, leaning a little closer and sniffing experimentally. His cybernetic senses were highly sensitive, but he didn't think that was what made this particular vintage smell like poison.

"Not far from it. I bought it off a guy in Omega who called it skud," Jack smirked at him, "if you think your pretty lips can handle it take a sip. It'll get the job done."

"I don't know," he said, feigning caution.

"Don't be such a pussy," Jack taunted him. Her eyes were shining. She obviously expected him to start puking the minute he put his lips on the thing. "Take a sip and I'll give you a whole credit to spend at the requisition terminal."

"A whole credit?" Shepard raised his eyebrow. "How about one for every sip?"

Garrus laughed quietly from his side and opened his mouth but Shepard shifted, as though repositioning himself, and kicked him lightly in the shin pad. Their eyes met, a conspiratory look passed between them. Shepard turned back to Jack and put on an innocent look.

"Why don't we make it interesting?" Jack asked. "I'll give you a credit for every sip you get down, and you give me a hundred for every sip you spit up."

"A hundred versus one? I know I've got scars all over my face, but the head trauma didn't go that deep."

"Fine, even split then but you have to drink the whole thing if you want to win."

They shook on it.

Shepard sealed his lips over the spout and upended the flask over his head. It was only about a quarter full, which was appropriate because he didn't actually want to get drunk. His throat pumped once, twice, three times and he shook the last few drops onto his tongue. It burnt like acid and fire and razorblades all mixed into a single hellish cocktail all the way down and he was slammed, instantly, into drunkenness. If he had been a different man he would have thrown up, or passed out, or possibly done both. Shepard steadied himself with a hand on Garrus' shoulder and for the first time in what felt like forever he grinned, really grinned, at Jack.

"How many sips do you think that was?" He asked.

"Jesus Christ!" Jack's eyes were wide. "How the hell are you still alive? I got that thing half full and had it for almost three months."

"Can I have one of your cigarettes?"

"Are you going to shove the whole pack in your mouth and light it on fire?"

"No." Shepard started to shake his head, but after a moment he paused and his face bent into a thoughtful look. "Well... if you gave me a hundred credits for every cigarette..."

"You don't even smoke, Shepard," Garrus was frowning at him.

"No, I used to smoke and then I didn't, and now I want one," Shepard frowned. "I think I deserve it."

"I guess I can't argue with that."

He took the cigarette but didn't light it right away. His stomach was tumbling around unpleasantly as the alcohol soaked in and he had a feeling that his first cigarette in five, or seven, years wasn't going to help him keep the shuttle clean. He rolled it between his fingers, sniffing the pungent tobacco odour that wafted off of it. The shuttle was feeling a little unsteady as he docked, but Shepard doubted that had anything to do with hardware.

"So you owe me what, like five thousand credits?" Shepard asked, once he had been assured the shuttle had touched down and all the movement he was getting was in his head. "I'd prefer cash, but since we're friends I'll take direct deposit."

"I'll deposit my fist in your face," Jack snarled.

"We shook on it," Shepard protested, though he was still grinning.

"You tricked me! You've been pretending to be this upright fucking boy scout all this time and-" she turned away from him as the shuttle doors swung open. "Whatever, I don't care. I'll pay you Shepard, right after we get back from the Omega-4 Relay."

She sneered at him over her shoulder and swung herself down from the Kodiak. He could hear her angry footsteps on the steel floor of the hangar bay as she stomped away and it amused him, but laughter was still too far away from him. He glanced up to find Garrus staring at him.

"Are you still in there, Shepard?" He asked, his voice unreasonably serious. "The real you, I mean?"

"I don't know," Shepard answered, honestly. "But you'll have a chance to see in a moment, because I think I'm going to throw up everything that's ever been inside me."

Garrus found him a plastic bag just in time, and sat with him as he filled it. Unsurprisingly, skud didn't taste any better coming up than it had going down, and neither did the cold rations he'd been force feeding himself lately. He spat oily bile into the bag, dry heaved one last time, and tied the bag off with a sloppy flourish.

"Done?" Garrus asked.

"The spirit still feels willing, but the body has spit up everything but my naked soul," Shepard ran his fingers through his hair, brushing strands of it out of his eyes. He never got used to seeing it so dark.

"I don't know, I think I see it floating there. Is it a black, cold, twisted little thing that's been closing his friends out for weeks and letting them worry?" Garrus' voice trembled just a little, casual banter giving way to something cold and angry that lurked underneath.

"Garrus..."

"You ask me on a suicide mission Shepard, I get to ask you this. Am I still following the same man? Are you dealing with this, or are you always going to be..." he hesitated, and then gestured up and down the length of him with one taloned hand, "like this?"

"I don't know."

"Which question is that supposed to answer?"

"Both of them. There's not exactly a twelve step program for dealing with this, Garrus," Shepard gave into the temptation that had seized him at the beginning of this trip and put his head in his hands, his elbows braced against his knees.

"Well, I guess the fact that you're drinking again is a good sign."

"I don't know that I've ever heard anyone say that before, especially not to me," Shepard smiled again. It felt strange to smile again, even if it was only faint.

"It's got you smiling again, so..." Garrus shrugged. "What are you going to do about the Illusive Man?"

"What about him?"

"Aren't you supposed to debrief him now?" Garrus asked, motioning to his bag of vomit. "You don't seem like you're in the best state for that."

"Are you kidding? The day I can't pretend to be sober in front of an authority figure is the day you can stop hoping that the real Shepard is in here somewhere."

Garrus chuckled as Shepard rubbed his face and stood up, teetering a little before establishing his balance again.

"Shepard?" Garrus called after him. "Alenko is doesn't know what he's talking about. And he doesn't know what he's missing."

"He's missing a suicide mission," Shepard shrugged, but it was a hard, brittle gesture full of anger, "it's hard to fault him for that."

"Not for me," Garrus had a stubborn look in his eyes, "if you say a man says he's got someone's back, he's got it. He doesn't go back on it when it becomes inconvenient, or dangerous or... ever. A real man stays, until the end of everything."

Shepard looked at Garrus for a long moment. He was still full of anger, but now there was something else there too. Something softer, though he didn't quite have a name for it yet.

"Thanks, Garrus," he said quietly. He hesitated, fighting with himself, with the stony layer he had pulled over himself as protection. "I'm glad you're here."

It wasn't much of a breakthrough, all things considered. But it was enough for now.

* * *

><p>I hope this chapter made the direction I'm taking with the ME2 storyline a little clearer. For anyone who might be worried: Shepard will not languish in angst for the next eight chapters, but 'getting back on his feet' is going to be a steady process rather than an immediate one.<p>

On a minor note, I'd planned to try to do character interactions between Shepard and everyone else, but it's become obvious to me that I can't give them all the same love and care. If any of my reviewers would like to see a particular character have a little focus on them, feel free to suggest it in a comment!

And thank you to everyone who has favorited and reviewed this story! It's always great to hear from you.


	15. Belief

It is repetition of affirmations that creates something and someone worth believing in. Once that belief becomes a deep conviction you will find all things become possible.

- Admiral Constance Vough

* * *

><p>Zaeed stared at Shepard the entire half hour shuttle ride back to the Normandy. He made no attempt to disguise his attention and he was sure Shepard noticed, but he didn't react to it in the slightest. Most of the trip he just played with his omni-tool like the rest of the world didn't exist. His face was set with the usual grim expression, those weird scars glowing in the dim light of the shuttle's belly.<p>

He must be used to attention like this by now. He wasn't the kind of man who inspired neutral opinions in people or slid under the radar. Smart people might love or hate him, but Zaeed had discovered that people who didn't take Shepard seriously tended to wind up dead.

He liked that about him, it was the kind of thing he could respect about a man.

All that aside, Zaeed spent most of the shuttle ride thinking about killing him.

He wouldn't, obviously. Whatever else the man might be he was damn convincing when he wanted to be. He'd made his point, and besides if there was one thing Zaeed had learned over the past few weeks it was that Shepard was the last best hope of mankind. He'd heard how much the Illusive Man had funneled into bringing him back from the dead and he thought that it was probably money well spent.

What was happening with the Collectors and the Reapers changed things for the whole galaxy, including himself. It was a much more complicated world, where loyalties and priorities all ran into each other and became jumbled, confused. Zaeed was happy to be a grunt at this point, he didn't know how he would have dealt with this if he was still in a command position. The only person he had seen who seemed to have any idea of how to deal with it was Shepard. He couldn't speak to the Illusive Man and how well he may or may not be handling things but he knew, he had faith, that Shepard was figuring it out.

That did not stop him from hating him. Hate and respect were very different things and they had no trouble coexisting peacefully within him. So he sat in the shuttle, stared at Shepard, and thought about killing him. It would have felt amazing to pull his gun and bury it in Shepard's stomach, or blow a hole between his eyes, or shove the door to the shuttle open and pitch him into the vacuum without his helmet. Then he would take control of the shuttle, newly equipped with particle cannons in his fantasy, hunt Vido down and shoot him out of the sky in a blaze of brilliant fire.

He didn't understand him. Shepard was hard, he knew that for a fact, and he would do whatever it took to destroy the Collectors. So why then, had he risked everything over a bunch of filthy pissant miners? Shepard didn't know shit about him, he could have turned on him, shot him, killed him for gods sake. And beyond that, wasn't he supposed to be a 'mission first' sort of soldier? He'd killed an entire system for the Alliance, over three hundred thousand lives gone in a flash of blue light.

The shuttle docked and Zaeed was gone before Shepard could rope him into one of his pep talks. His little room wasn't the most inviting place, but it was better than anywhere else as long as the garbage chute wasn't chugging and spitting. And it was private.

Zaeed prowled the narrow confines of his quarters like an angry varren. His thoughts kept circling back to Shepard and his miners. It had the effect of making him more angry rather than less, dark thoughts multiplying as he paced back and forth. Maybe he should kill him.

He wouldn't. But maybe he should.

He was expecting it when the door slid open and Shepard appeared, though he wasn't expecting the bottle in his hand or the two glasses.

"I found this in my quarters," Shepard opened conversationally, setting the two glasses down on one of the metal shipping crates. He pushed the pile of throwing knives Zaeed had left there away and cracked the seal on the bottle. "Five hundred year old scotch. On my old wage I'd have to work half a year to afford something like this. If I can say one thing about Cerberus I'll say this, they know how to make a man comfortable."

"I don't want to talk about it, Shepard," Zaeed growled.

"Okay, that's fine. Do you want some scotch?" Shepard held the bottle over the first glass but didn't pour. His mechanical eyes were chips of glass and metal, the revealed nothing of the thoughts that were twisting around in that mind of his. They made most people uncomfortable, but Zaeed met them without flinching.

"You don't talk."

"Right."

"And I drink your five hundred year old scotch."

"Right again."

"Fine, pour it then," Zaeed picked up one of his knives. "But if you try to pep-talk me I'm going to cut you."

"You would be amazed to know how many times I've heard that exact sentence," Shepard smirked and poured. He'd brought a bottle of water with him, and he added a few drops of it to each glass before he handed them over.

"You drink like an Admiral," Zaeed growled as he accepted his glass. "Scotch doesn't need water, ya ponce."

"You drink like a merc," Shepard replied, "which makes sense, but still. A few drops of water activates the flavour."

Zaeed laughed, but he tipped all three fingers into his mouth, letting the smooth liquor tumble around on his tongue a moment before he swallowed. It was good. He almost wished it wasn't, so he could send Shepard away with a sneer. Instead he motioned for more. Shepard polished off his own glass and gave them each a generous shot.

"Aren't you on duty?" Zaeed asked four silent drinks later. He found his cigarettes and shook one out before offering Shepard the pack on reflex. Shepard shook his head no and to Zaeed's amusement produced his own.

"I can drink on duty as long as I don't get drunk. This isn't really a military ship so it's not like anyone's going to call me on it anyway," Shepard did accept his lighter. He turned the battered zippo over in his fingers, tracing the engraving with one finger.

"Lawson might," Zaeed smirked. "I've heard you two are at each others throats."

"I don't care what Lawson says," Shepard replied, rolling his eyes and exhaling smoke through his nostrils.

"Really? I thought she was your second in command?"

"Garrus is my second in command. Lawson's only here because the Illusive Man says she has to be here."

That was interesting, if not entirely unexpected. No one could fail to notice that Lawson spent a lot more time on the ship and a lot less time in the field than anyone else except possibly Taylor. Shepard didn't trust Cerberus, not even the ones that worked for him. Zaeed filed that away as information that might be worth holding on to.

They drank and smoked in silence for a while. Shepard looked relaxed. He pushed himself up with his hands and sat on the shipping crate, his legs dangling. The bottle was half empty and Zaeed was starting to feel a pleasant buzz in his temples that made his thoughts fuzzy and slow.

"So say what you came to say," he finally broke down. He'd thought he could freeze Shepard out, but Shepard was as good at this as he was at anything.

"I thought you were going to cut me," Shepard said, his lips twisting into something half way between a smile and a smirk.

"I said I would cut you if you try to pep-talk me, so you'd better be careful. But I know you came down here with something to say, so spit it out," Zaeed held out his glass, "and give me another shot of that."

Shepard filled his glass almost to the rim and did the same for himself. He didn't look even a little bit drunk, his back was held in ram-rod straight military posture.

"Could you really have let all those people burn to death so you could have your revenge, Zaeed?" Shepard's voice was not disgusted, or even really judgemental. He sounded curious.

"Damn right I could," Zaeed replied, brandishing a finger at him. "You know how many people Vido is going to destroy because you let him get away?"

"No. Vido might get capped by one of his lieutenants tomorrow, or have an aneurism, or slip getting out of the shower for all I know and then someone else would step into his shoes and kill just as many people as Vido ever would. I don't pretend that I know the future, and you shouldn't pretend you care about the people he could potentially hurt. We both know that's not why you wanted him dead," Shepard fixed him with those hard mechanical eyes. "Don't insult my intelligence, Zaeed. I'm smarter than you and what's more than that I'm basically bullshit proof. So don't waste my time."

"Okay, yeah, I don't care. I want him dead because of what he did to me," Zaeed glared at Shepard, "I think that's a good enough reason."

"A good enough reason to want him dead," Shepard agreed. "If it had been that simple I would have held him down for you and handed you a gun to finish it with."

That surprised him.

"But it's not a good enough reason to sentence a whole mines worth of innocent people to death. Even you have to realize that at some level," Shepard drank, his throat pumping alluringly. One carefully placed punch and it would all be over. Zaeed doubted Cerberus would pour another two years into bringing him back.

He doubted they had the time. So he didn't, but he thought about it.

"I wouldn't have regretted it."

"That makes sense. There's no point in regretting what you've already done, but looking back on it do you really think it would have been right to kill all those people to satisfy yourself?"

"Why do you care so much?" Zaeed asked, a hot flush climbing up the back of his neck. "You killed an entire star system, Shepard. This isn't the time for high ideals."

"You're wrong. This is the only time for high ideals." Shepard sighed, finishing off his glass and pulling out another cigarette. "We're fighting for our survival, and when you give up everything human about yourself in the fight you're not really surviving anymore are you? If you give up everything human about yourself you've already died. Believe me, I know."

"But you killed a star system," Zaeed raised an eyebrow.

"I tried to warn them, but in the end I couldn't. It's something I'll have to carry with me for the rest of my life. I didn't have a choice, but I accept the responsibility of what I did. I- we- had a choice on Zorya. And when you have a choice you have to make the right one or you might as well put down your gun and let the Reapers come." Shepard was looking at him, his mechanical eyes boring through skin and flesh until it felt like he was looking into his soul. "This is the greatest fight any of us will ever know and if humanity is going win, really win, we need to bring the best of ourselves to it instead of our worst. Our enemies don't care who we are or what we believe, all they want to do is destroy us. If we give up our humanity we've already been destroyed so even if we win, we've already lost."

Zaeed stared at him, his words mixing with the warm fugue of scotch that was invading his senses. He motioned for more liquor, hoping it would give him time to think of a response that would wipe that self-righteousness away. His mind was a blank.

"I've never seen this side of you before, Shepard," he brought his glass to his lips.

"It's been away for a long time. Making the choice I did on Zorya helped bring it back," Shepard filled his own glass. There was only a thin layer at the bottom of the bottle now but he still didn't seem even a little bit drunk.

"When I'm sober I'm going to come up with an argument that'll shut you up," Zaeed promised fiercely. "Boy scouts don't win wars, Shepard. Killers do."

"If you can come up with an argument that'll justify doing whatever it takes I'll thank you for it. Being like you is a lot easier than being like me," Shepard smirked at him again. "But I don't think you will. Like I said, I'm smarter than you Zaeed, and I've spent a lot of time thinking about this. Killers might win wars that boy scouts lose, but some wars aren't worth winning. It's better to die well than live as an animal. Believe me-"

"Yeah, I get it, you know," Zaeed rolled his eyes. "Fine, you've convinced me. You did the right thing."

"I don't need you to like it," Shepard swung down, tipping the last of his glass down his throat. He divided what was left in the bottle between them, a half finger in each glass. "I don't need you to like me. But I need you to accept it."

"I don't like it," Zaeed promised him, "but if I hadn't accepted it, you'd already be dead."

"Says you," Shepard grinned. It was the same stupid grin he used to wear on the vids all the time and it looked out of place in his nest of orange scars and under his jet black hair.

"Whatever," Zaeed studied the last of the scotch. "Are we going to toast or what?"

"To revenge," Shepard said. "If I ever get a chance to make this right in a way that doesn't end with a thousand innocent deaths I promise I'll take it."

That was also unexpected. Zaeed studied him for a moment, but he appeared to be quite serious.

"To revenge," he echoed, "if I ever get a chance to help you stick it to the Illusive Man I'll take it for you, Shepard."

He looked surprised.

"What makes you think I want revenge on the Illusive Man?" He asked.

"You might be some sort of genius, Shepard, but you've got a lousy poker face when it comes to Cerberus. Do you want the toast or not?" He held his glass up.

After a moment Shepard touched his rim to his. They both drank. The scotch was good, smooth and woody and it tasted like home, like earth. Like the real reason they were all out here, throwing their lives away on this insane mission. It was good enough to make everything worthwhile.

Shepard took the glasses and the empty bottle and headed for the door, leaving smoke and the taste of whiskey behind him. Zaeed watched him go.

He might have accepted what he said but he didn't like it. He liked Commander Shepard though, almost against his will. He wasn't the sort of man who inspired neutral opinions and after that talk he couldn't find it in him to hate the man. Liking and respect made ever better partners than hate and respect. He could do this. He could fight for this man. He could die for him. He might even die believing in something, and that was something he thought he'd given up on a long time ago.

* * *

><p>For Nefla, since she asked for it, I have Shepard's face code: 121 PKB VC2 12B HPQ IEB SS8 19W FK5 7RB 43D 7<p>

What a handsome fellow!

I know there's been tons of Zaeed, Jack and Garrus so far, but they were totally my favorite characters in ME2 and I didn't know what to do with the others until later in the game, after their loyalty missions. I'm still eager to hear if anyone wants to see a particular character, since I'm having trouble deciding which ones I should write about.


	16. Personal Evolution

A perfect man never does anything that requires an apology. As you can probably guess, there has never been a perfect man.

- Benjamin Wrigley, Human Comedian

* * *

><p>Miranda didn't like Commander Shepard. She decided this with some force very shortly after meeting him.<p>

Part of this was pure frustration on her part. The goal of the Lazarus project had been to bring Shepard back whole, unchanged, the same insolent grinning shit-head she'd seen on the vids a hundred times over the years. She'd never liked him, even when she didn't know him. He showed too many teeth when he smiled, he dyed his hair electric red like a bloody teenager, and every inch of him just exuded the kind of overly-masculine military confidence she found so repellent.

Everyone else in the galaxy loved him, even the Illusive Man seemed amused by the video of him socking an obnoxious reporter in the eye. Miranda had just been disgusted.

But it was Shepard, not Cerberus who saved the galaxy from Sovereign and discovered the Reaper threat. They were supposed to be the keepers of humanity, the ones who met those who would threaten them at the gates and destroyed them but this joke of a jarhead had done more in a couple weeks than they had in the course of their existence.

So Miranda was forced to adjust her opinion of him. It made it easier when she was assigned to Lazarus and told to bring him back. She had done her best. She had performed a dangerous miracle of science and brought him back from the dead.

He was not the same. And Miranda hated him for it.

She'd read the reports, his service record, the secret files hacked out of Alliance computers. Trinidad, no middle name provided, Shepard, human street rat turned war hero. He was deadly with his sniper rifle, currently ranking ninth overall among all Alliance soldiers. They installed mechanical eyes with better sights then most civilian grade rifles, reinforced the joints through his arms and shoulders so he could hold the gun steadier, streamlined his cardiovascular system so he could drop his breathing to a whisper as he shot. Better bones, better muscles, a heart that could beat two hundred years without a whisper. The science that hooked his new eardrums to his brain was so complex even she had some trouble understanding it, but it made them sensitive as a cats. One moment he could strain and hear the patter of mouse feet in another room, the next they could dial down and suppress a close range missile detonation. The year they had spent on his brain had been estimated to raise his I.Q by twenty points, which made it higher than hers.

They had done all of this to make him better, more himself. All their psychological profiles of him had suggested that was the way he would react to it. Shepard had been torn from violence and thrown into more all his life. His records from Basic and Calypso Technical Academy were a mixture of genius and chaos. He'd served more cumulative detention than anyone in his year, over six hundred hours of punitive duties and two suspensions. Destruction of school property, a mass of alcohol violations, misuse of military hardware and software, this wasn't a man who sat around nursing his wounds. This was a man who lived life on reflex.

Everything they had suggested this was so.

But Shepard came back dark and silent, so cold it was a little frightening. The Lazarus Project was a failure, SHE was a failure. His scars had become unexpectedly bad, the flesh peeling back over strips of cybernetic circuits until it looked like his face was laced with fire. It made it impossible to look at him without remembering what she'd done to him, and when he looked at her she knew that he was remembering that too.

And he hated her for it.

It was an awkward dynamic to say the least.

It had made asking for his help one of the most difficult things she had ever done. She hadn't really expected him to help her, she wouldn't have helped him with any of his personal matters. She would have sent him off to see Vakarian, he hadn't made any secret that he considered the Turian to be his real right hand. Vakarian had been assigned to duties that should have been hers after being on the ship for two weeks. Shepard reassigned her to increased information gathering hours. The Illusive Man didn't say anything about it so Miranda bit back her fury and buckled down to her task. She couldn't help but notice it kept her in her office most of the day.

They spoke mostly through terminal to terminal messages. When she wanted to see him she'd informed Chambers like she was leaving a note with a secretary.

She hadn't expected him to help her, but he had. They had gone smashing through the eclipse like the hammer of god, Shepard had apparently adapted to his new body a little better. He was a demon in charcoal armour, the N7 stripe like a slash of blood up his arm. He kept her at ten, while Vakarian covered his six. The two of them fought together like they had been born to do it, they barely spoke, which left Shepard plenty of time to direct her. Fighting with him was like dancing, she had never met anyone who understood and adapted to the battlefield with such simple, elegant instinct.

And then... in the port...

The tears had dried on her face in the elevator ride. Shepard didn't say anything to her until it reached the city centre. There, he put a hand on her shoulder and gestured for Vakarian to give them a moment.

"I need to say something to you, Lawson, and it's not going to be easy for me."

"Shepard, I mean Commander, you don't have to-"

"I'm sorry," Shepard interrupted her. His mechanical eyes were disconcerting, a blush of orange in the centre of a jet-black iris.

Miranda blinked.

"Pardon me?"

"I'm sorry, Lawson. All this time since I came back I've been angry at you for what you did to me. I've been carrying it around like a cross and blaming you for every bloody footstep. I... I was wrong. You didn't do this to me, the Collectors did. I should have been angry at the Collectors and the Reapers, not at you." He smiled sheepishly. It was the first time she had ever seen him smile and she found it much less repellent than she remembered. "They managed to get two years of my life, but they tried to steal it all. You gave it back to me. You gave me the chance to do what I need to do. I was angry at the wrong person, and I'm sorry."

Miranda blinked at him again, this was the last thing she would have expected from him and her usually agile mind was having trouble processing everything.

"Are you feeling like yourself?" She asked after realizing she had to come up with something to break the silence.

"More every day," his smile broadened into a grin. "Are we good?"

She felt herself smile, almost against her will.

"Yeah, we're good Shepard." She paused. "I'm sorry too."

"Great. Let's skip the intimate hug and get to recruiting that assassin okay?"

She laughed and he grinned at her. The two of them collected Vakarian and hailed a cab, and for the first time since setting eyes on Commander Shepard she didn't feel like an outsider.

* * *

><p>We must make every effort to supplement our faith with virtue, our virtue with knowledge, our knowledge with godliness, and our godliness with compassion. Above and beyond that, we must master all things with self-control.<p>

- Part Six of the Justicar Code, the Garden, 1:5-7

* * *

><p>"Samara," he hesitated by the door. The Justicar had a serenity to her that he hated to disturb despite her gracious acceptance of his interruptions.<p>

"Shepard," the ambient biotic energy surrounding her faded as she came out of her meditation and she uncrossed her legs. "Can I be of assistance in some way?"

Her face was as friendly as it ever got, a small smile, a little animation in her cool eyes. There was coldness there, but it didn't disgust him like her daughters had. Morinth's eyes held the tumultuous, black cold of death. Samara's was controlled. Like every other part of her, the chill in her amazing blue eyes was perfectly, completely controlled every moment of the day or night.

"I don't want to interrupt you," he said cautiously, still hovering by the door.

"I do not mind," she said, pushing herself to her feet and turning to face him.

Her freshly painted armour glittered like coal in the harsh white light. Shepard could still smell the paint and sealant on it and he tried not to grimace at the assault on his senses.

"I have a request," he began slowly, feeling out the conversation before he committed to it. After Omega and everything that had happened there he wasn't sure how he felt about the Justicar or how she might feel about him.

"I am ready to fulfill any request you might make of me," she said, her voice demure. She was referring to her oath of course. Her smile had faded, replaced by her usual professional seriousness.

"It's... personal in nature," he said, still cautious. He studied her, trying to read a reaction, but Samara gave him nothing. He realized how frustrating it must be for other people when he put his stone face on and tried to talk to them.

"I see. Is it not something that Garrus or Tali could help you with?" A hint of curiosity lingered around her eyes as she took in his apprehension. "My understanding was that you were close with them."

"I... I am," Shepard admitted. It felt strange to say it. "But this isn't something either of them have any experience with."

"I understand," she turned away from him and seated herself again. "Please, sit down."

"On the floor?"

"Yes."

He frowned, but did as he was bid, taking a seat across from her and bending his legs so he could rest his folded arms on his knees. They looked at each other for a moment as Shepard struggled with what he wanted to say, how he wanted to ask this question. He wasn't accustomed to asking for help from anyone and certainly not from people he didn't know well.

"You are worried about what happened with Morinth," Samara said as though he had explained himself already. "It is to be expected, Shepard. If Morinth was easy to resist she wouldn't have been such a successful killer."

He envied her composure. She could talk about their mission to destroy her daughter without a flicker of anything in her clear blue eyes. Unlike Shepard, who always felt like he was on the brink of unleashing everything that was hiding behind his stony facade, Samara was perfectly in control of everything.

"Yes," he admitted. "I don't... I don't even like women, but she had me twisted around her little finger."

"Asari are not women," Samara reminded him.

"Yes, I know," Shepard rolled his eyes, "but she still wasn't exactly my type. I go for tall, dark and handsome, not small, blue and skinny. Also, I think breasts are weird."

"I understand."

"I'm a soldier, I'm used to taking orders and before that I was... I wasn't really in charge of my own life. But even in my darkest hours I've never completely forgotten who I am before. I've never..." He trailed off and rubbed his fingers through his dark hair, breaking eye contact and sighing, a gesture that wracked his entire body.

"Been out of control," Samara finished for him. "I have been alive a very long time Shepard, and I have seen that look before."

"What look?" He asked, immediately taking control of his face and reforming his usual neutral expression.

"Fear and anger. Fear because you worry that someone else might be able to do that to you again and anger because of the fear. It is the normal response," that almost sounded like it was supposed to be comforting. It was hard to imagine this woman as a mother.

"I'm not afraid," he said softly, not sure if that was a lie or not. "But I don't like being out of control, especially not like that."

Samara watched him. He had the feeling she was learning more from this conversation than he was, but that wouldn't have been difficult for her. He entertained the idea of making an excuse and fleeing the scene before it got any worse, but he'd come here for a reason and running would put him in the same cold situation he'd been in for the last few days.

"Why are you here, Shepard?"

"I want you to teach me to meditate," he admitted. "I want the control that you have."

Samara's eyes widened in surprise, and he could have sworn her mouth almost fell open. It was the most genuine expression he had ever seen on her face and it was enough to bring a small smile to his lips.

"I studied the Justicar Code for fifteen years before began to learn to meditate as I do now," she said sternly. "It is not something that someone picks up flippantly to reassure themselves."

"I've read the Justicar Code," he said.

"It requires memorization to be effective," she corrected herself.

"I memorized it too. Text and data is easy for me," he shrugged, "I'm pretty smart."

"Being smart has nothing to do with it," Samara said, but she looked less severe. There was a pause and Shepard could almost read the thoughts twisting around each other behind her eyes. "Or at least, almost nothing. Can you recite the first three lines of the three thousand and eleventh sura?"

"Self control is not taught. It is the burden of every soul to find it within, to nurture it with their own water and warm it with their own sun until it blossoms into the flower whose nectar may poison bitterness, prejudice and fear. When this has happened you have become a triumphant soul," Shepard recited, trying not to look too smug with himself. Memorization was easy for him, he hadn't lied about that, but the Justicar Code was damn long.

"There you have it then," Samara did not look as impressed with him as he was with himself.

"But doesn't the Code also say that its practise is what makes the water of the soul flow sweetly and the sun shine with purity?" He asked shrewdly. "I paid attention while I was memorizing it."

She looked marginally more impressed, but still far from convinced.

"Are you interested in becoming a Justicar, Shepard?" She asked.

"Hardly. I don't think that get-up would have the same effect if I tried to put it on."

Samara cupped her hand over her mouth and coughed discreetly into it, avoiding his eyes. It sounded suspiciously like a laugh at the end and she cleared her throat before she would look at him again. Her eyes were less inscrutable. He could see mirth lingering there, and around the corners of her usually placid lips.

"Perhaps Thane would help you with this. His meditations are religious in nature, I believe, but he has great respect for you."

"Are you saying you don't?" Shepard asked, cocking an eyebrow at her.

She looked disconcerted.

"The Justicar Code and its practises is not something I have ever tried to teach anyone, certainly not a human. It is concerned with stillness and reflection, with finding the calm space in the centre of the spinning, shifting kaleidoscope of the universe. This is contrary to the way that humans live their lives, always moving, always trying to be a part of everything," she shook her head, "your kind is not suited to this practise, Shepard. This is a difference that is neither good nor bad, it is simply the nature of your species."

"Humans meditate to," he informed her.

"Not as the Asari do," she argued.

"Look... I would ask Thane, but he's got his own issues to work out right now," Shepard shook his head. "It's you or nobody. I don't want you to school me in the Code, or bend me into a meditation superman overnight, Samara. I just... I need some help," he had to force the last of that through his clenched teeth. It wasn't something he was accustomed to saying, but he said it again with more force. "I need you to help me."

"You have put me in a difficult position, Shepard."

"We're all in a difficult position, Samara, and no one more than me."

"I suppose I cannot argue with that."

They looked at each other.

"Cross your legs Shepard, and try to straighten your spine," she settled back into her meditative posture, her hands resting on her knees. "Copy my posture and close your eyes."


	17. Crimson Splendor

It is courage, courage, courage that raises the blood of life to crimson splendor. Face adversity with bravery, uncertainty with confidence and live life without fear. Soon you will find that you are completely free.

- Krogan Proverb

* * *

><p>The cold got to him more than it used to.<p>

He'd always hated being cold. It was never cold in Cuba, even when it rained it was a place of cloying warmth. The heat soaked into his bones, it covered every day and night in a fine sheen of sweat. Even the sea was warm in the Caribbean, and after that his had been a life of star ships and armour that came with temperature controls built into the hardware. If he was cold, it meant something had gone wrong.

Or, that was what it used to mean. Now the cold was with him all the time, an icy, slimy weight that hung heavy in his guts. It even found him when he slept.

It would start while he was walking down the hallway of the Normandy, heading toward one room or another to complete one duty or the next, but when the doors slid open before him the room was gone and there was only the hungry void, waiting for him. Terror would seize him, rising like bile at the back of his throat, and he would turn to run before he realized he wasn't on the SR2 any longer. The world was a chaos of shadow and flame and he was alone. There was fear, right before the vacuum caught hold of him and yanked him back, into the cold and the smothering blackness.

Usually he woke before he spent too much time there. Sometimes he didn't, and those were the worst nights, the ones where he woke covered in a cold sweat, shaking, as phantom pains chased themselves up and down his spine and his shoulder flared with sudden sharp agony. The dreams were worse when he slept in the bed, and when he woke he was always staring up into the skylight at the void that haunted him, so he avoided his large, comfortable bed and slept at his desk like that was what it was made for.

It was cold in his cabin when he got back from his first outing on the Citadel. He registered it, even through the chaos of his thoughts. His mind was a mire, swamped with memories and emotions and the memories of emotions. He didn't know what to do with himself.

Coming back to life wasn't like waking up. It wasn't gentle or serene, he didn't drift down into his body from on high and float into consciousness. It was violent. One moment it was like he was riding a rollercoaster in the frigid night, a lurching, tumbling, freezing nothingness all around him and inside him, slowly dispersing him back into the universe. The next he was back, smashing into flesh and blood like a meteor made of light. His blood had been boiling hot, rushing through his veins like a locomotive, slamming into the base of his skull with the force of the ocean in a hurricane. He was a smart man and he talked a good game but there were no words that could express the terror he'd felt in those first moments of his second life.

There was no way to explain how it had changed him. He'd thought that nothing could ever be the same.

Shepard settled down on his couch and tried to unwind the tangle the last few hours had made of his thoughts. The couch was comfortable. He'd never used it before, his life in this room had been lived at his desk or tossing uncomfortably at his bed. He'd never considered the space to be his and it had felt, somehow, inappropriate to sit on the couch without an invitation. That was just one more thing that had changed in the last several hours.

No.

The decision had come to him with the same easy confidence he used to feel when he made any decision. It was ninety-percent instinct, ten-percent meticulous intellect. It was breezy, almost casual, barely thought out. It was stone.

No. He would not let Garrus kill Sidonis.

It had been difficult to stand there, feeling Garrus' crosshairs on the back of his head. Every part of him believed that he would never pull the trigger, he knew Garrus and he understood him in many ways better than he understood himself. He did not, however, know Archangel and it was hard to say whose finger was on the trigger in a moment like that.

Through his life he's found there was always a line, somewhere, which he just could not cross. He saw it on Elysium, when that sniveling little Major had tried to order him to stand down and leave civilians to die in his sights. He found it with the Rachni Queen, with Zaeed, and in a hundred smaller places throughout his life. That was one of those moments. There were some things a man just didn't do, and letting a friend surrender to that calibre of darkness was one of them.

It had been difficult, but he had done it and when it was over he had experienced a powerful epiphany in the taxi on their way back to the docks. He couldn't be like this anymore. The decision came to him with sudden force, iron-clad and undeniable.

It didn't matter what had happened to him. Like his time as X, what had happened over Alchera was just one more thing he couldn't do anything about. He'd had his time to mope over it and now it was time to fold it up and file it away in its proper place. All men had their burdens to bear, and if his was any heavier than anyone else's that was alright. No one had ever said being alive was going to be easy, and it didn't seem like he got a choice in the matter.

Shepard got up and went into the bathroom. Shaving cream and a toothbrush occupied the narrow vanity; the rest of the cabinet beside the sink had been largely untouched. He was a military man, he needed hard soap, a razor, and deodorant, nothing more. Cerberus had taken it upon themselves to supply him with cologne and aftershave, lotions and oils and a little box that was probably left there by some shrink who thought he had a sense of humour. It was either impressive or a huge coincidence that it happened to be his brand.

He left the box of dye on the edge of the sink as he pulled the electric clipper across his head, half an inch on the side, an inch and a half on the top. The dye foamed up between his fingers as he rubbed it into his newly shortened hair. He examined himself in the mirror as he let it sit for a moment, working its way down to the roots. His scars had been getting better for days; they used to burn but now they were back to itching.

He'd never gotten used to seeing himself with dark hair. Now he watched the white foam turn crimson as the colour set in, and stripped himself naked for the shower.

Red water ran over his shoulders and down his arms, running in the scars on his forearms until the orange light could barely glimmer through the tide. It was too hot, really, but he liked it. There was something purifying about it, he let it soak into him, past his skin and muscle into the heavy pit of cold that had been gnawing at his gut, holding him with one foot in that crazy darkness Miranda had brought him back from. He remembered getting the Star of Terra pinned on his chest, the proudest and most important moment of his life, the moment he realized what it was he wanted to be. He remembered white light filling him, burning away the darkness until he was clean.

He shook water off his face and turned off the faucet. He dried his hair and used the towel to wipe condensation off the mirror.

That was more like it. He grinned at himself.

Then he got dressed and meditated for half an hour, stilling the wild emotions still running through him, carving everything he had decided for himself in stone. He had decided who he was going to be before, and he could damn well do it again.

He had been an animal, and survived that. He had been a junkie, and survived that. He had been smaller, and scrawnier, than any other soldier in Basic or Tech, he had fought a pirate invasion ten times the size of his squad, battled a Spectre and killed a Reaper. He had died, and he had come back. He had survived everything in the galaxy there was to survive. He couldn't survive all of that, just to be afraid of living.

"EDI," he said as he opened his eyes. He felt very calm, solid, confident, like he was living in the moment for the first time in what felt like forever. "Can you send Councillor Anderson a message telling him to expect me within an hour?"

"Certainly, Shepard."

He pushed himself to his feet, dusting the seat of his uniform off, ran his fingers through his short red hair, and set off. Back into the world.

Garrus looked up from his terminal. His face was very still for a long moment and Shepard thought that maybe coming here had been a bad idea. Garrus had said he didn't want to talk and Shepard had been inclined to believe him at the moment. Maybe coming straight here like this had been a bad idea.

"What happened?" He asked, finally. The mandible on the scarred side of his face twitched, something Shepard had come to recognize as a facial tick.

"I figured my shit out," Shepard said wryly. "Sorry it took me so long."

"I still don't want to talk. Not yet."

"I get that. I have to ask you one thing though, Garrus."

"Yes, commander?"

"Are you still with me?"

There was a moment of silence, a tiny, brief moment not really worth mentioning. It felt like a million years.

"Yeah."

"Because... I need you with me," Shepard struggled, but the words came out this time. He had needs, just like a real person, and there was nothing wrong with that. He couldn't be stone all the time, and that wasn't a bad thing.

"I'm with you, Shepard," Garrus grasped his forearm, his hand firm, "to the end."

Shepard grinned at him, and laughed. He really laughed, deep in his stomach, for the first time since he had come shuddering and gasping to life on Frankenstein's table in the Lazarus station. It wasn't very long or very loud, but it was everything he needed to cement himself back into place.

"Spirits, Shepard," Garrus sighed, "I missed you."

"I missed you too, buddy," Shepard jostled him around, just a little bit, and let him go. "I'll be back later."

"I'll be ready for you then. I just need a couple hours to... you know. Sort things out."

"Don't take too long," Shepard grinned, "we've got a galaxy to save."

* * *

><p>"So Shepard," Joker interrupted conversationally while they were preparing to go ashore, "what are you going to tell the Councillors? You've been ignoring their calls and acting like they don't exist for almost a month now. They've probably been all broken hearted and crying by their vid-phones."<p>

"Stuffing themselves with ice cream as their makeup runs?" Shepard asked, coming up behind him with a smile on his lips. Tali and Thane went over their equipment one more time as Shepard leaned against the back of Joker's seat, surveying the constantly updated data stream that summarized the ships condition.

"Going out to the bar and meeting other Spectres for nights of degradation, and then wondering why they sneak out of the Tower in their socks every morning," Joker grinned.

"It's only to be expected," Shepard sighed, "after you've all had this, what is there to go back to?"

"Yeah, I always thought it was irresistible the way you would call them up and then hang up on them after thirty seconds," Joker rolled his eyes. "At least you made yourself pretty again. What are you going to tell them?"

"That depends," Shepard rolled his shoulder, working the stiff joint in circles. "But I'll probably tell them to fuck themselves. I'm sick of people calling me a traitor, and if I have to hear that smug, well-fed Turian bastard say one more goddamn thing about my mental state..." He trailed off, grimacing around the bad taste anger left in his mouth.

"Leave your omni-tool on. I want to see a recording of that conversation," the clouds of stellar dust began to break over the bow of the ship, purple and twilight blue swirling across the gleaming steel. There was a pause.

"What are you going to say to Anderson?" Joker asked. He didn't look up, his smile didn't change, but the question felt different than the rest of their conversation. His fingers flew across the holo-screens but the way he was avoiding Shepard's eyes felt deliberate, they'd had perfectly natural conversations while Joker was navigating their ship through battlefields.

"I haven't figured that out yet," Shepard sighed, rubbing at his dark hair. "I guess if I don't think of anything I won't have any choice but to tell him the truth."

"Let me know how that works out," Joker shook his head as the ship slid gracefully between the arms of the station toward the docks. "I love hearing you try to explain it. And while you're there it would be great if you grabbed some real food for Rupert to try and cook with."

Shepard smiled again, and shook his head.

"Just for you, Joker."

"I knew there was profit in kissing up to superior officers."

* * *

><p>I really tried to hold off until the end of the ME2 arc to have Shepard dye his hair back to red because I know you can't change his appearance mid-game, but it just seemed wrong for him not to do it after coming to his epiphany like he did. So I bent reality a little bit.<p>

Also, I can't believe I just forgot about Joker and didn't do anything with him in the first part of the story! Shame on me.


	18. Bright and Dark

Memory is a way of holding onto the things you love, the things you are, the things you never want to lose.

- Senai Destr

* * *

><p>Relationships seemed complicated, Shepard mused as he watched Kasumi turn the greybox over in her hands for the hundredth time. It seemed like she should be happy to have those memories back, but she looked grim, her eyes huge and hollow in the shadows thrown by her hood. Shepard looked down at his gauntleted hands before his lingering eyes became awkward for both of them. He couldn't think of a thing to say.<p>

He wasn't a total robot, he'd cared about people very deeply in his life and he still did. He had relationships. But not _relationships_. That was uncharted territory, a wild blue yonder he had lived his life without ever once setting eyes upon. He didn't think he'd ever slept with the same person twice in a row.

He wasn't ashamed of it but it made him feel inadequate in a way, like something was missing. He couldn't be sure if it was a hole in his life or a hole in himself, and it was too late now to do anything about it. When he felt around that empty, insecure corner of his life his thoughts inevitably strayed to Alenko and that smouldering red anger would bubble up out of its dormancy under his more important emotions.

All in all, he didn't feel comfortable offering Kasumi advice on her feelings at the moment. It was a flashback to the days after Noveria, when he had slapped awkward comforts at Liara in the aftermath of her mother's death. He hadn't know what to say then, either.

He'd asked Alenko for advice, he remembered with a flash of red like a veil of blood pulled over his eyes. Shepard pushed the anger down, smothered it with will power as his fingers clenched tight against his armoured thighs. There were more important thoughts at hand than the rage he felt thinking back to Horizon and the betrayal that sat like a weight in his heart even now. No matter what Alenko was now, they'd been friends once, and he'd asked him for advice

Nothing he could say would be as bad as saying nothing at all, that's what Alenko had told him. It was good advice then, and it was good advice now despite everything that had happened. It had worked out for him, too. He had a habit of stumbling into things at the right angle.

"You know," he began, breaking the silence without preamble, "when I was a kid I always loved the ocean."

"Oh yeah?" Kasumi was polite, but barely looked up from the greybox nestled in her hands.

"Yeah. When things got bad, and they got really bad, I could run down to the beach and swim out, past the breakers and the waves, until I couldn't see the shore. I would face the horizon so it looked like there was nothing in the world but the ocean, just endless blue water everywhere with no Trinidad, or Cuba, or other people. All the blood and terror would stop existing for a little while and I would just float there and feel the sun on my skin. It kept me sane," he laughed, "sane-ish. Sane-like."

"Right," Kasumi was looking at him now, clearly confused. She didn't look annoyed yet, but she was getting all the pieces of it ready just in case their conversation kept going.

"It's been five, or seven, years since I saw that endless blue," he said softly; their eyes met across the shuttle. "And so much of it has been such a nightmare that sometimes I think I might actually be crazy. I miss the ocean so much it makes my skin itch like it's craving saltwater. I think that if someone gave me the means to relive those moments of clarity, that feeling of sanity and belonging... I don't think I'd be able to give it up. And that's just the ocean."

A sad smile touched her lips and she looked down at the precious greybox cradled in her slender hands. They sat in silence for a moment, and Shepard wasn't sure if she was thinking or if he'd made a total ass of himself and she was ignoring him.

"I should delete them," she said finally. "That makes the most sense and I'm only keeping them because I'm being selfish."

"Who cares?" Shepard asked, raising an eyebrow. "If you haven't noticed, the world is ending Kasumi. The Reapers are the only thing that really matters, not some bullshit Alliance political scandal, and when we fight the Reapers we're going to need everything we've got. Take strength where you can get it, and be as happy as you can, when you can, for as long as you can be. That's all any of us can do."

He shrugged.

"But, that said, I'm trusting you to keep that data safe. Political bullshit might be meaningless, but not everyone's as smart as I am so you can't expect them to understand that."

"You... I thought you'd react differently to this," Kasumi said after a moment. "Aren't you a badass?"

"I am badass, don't worry. But ever since Samara started teaching me to meditate I've realized life is a lot simpler than it's made out to be."

"You meditate?"

"Yep," Shepard grinned at her and she laughed. She sat up a little straighter and for the first time since they'd climbed up onto the shuttle she tore her eyes away from the piece of tech in her hands and looked at him. "She even gave me a mantra, though you're only supposed to chant it in your mind."

"That's unfortunate, it would be much easier to make fun of you if you said it out loud."

"The messed up thing is she didn't tell me it was supposed to be internal until I'd been doing it for like fifteen minutes."

Kasumi laughed again, covering her mouth with the back of her hand. Shepard grinned at her and the heavy, bitter-sweet air hanging in the shuttle cleared a little bit. Shepard was congratulating himself, silently, and trying not to think about Alenko at the same time. It seemed like he was getting his old tricks back.

"So..." She said carefully when she'd quieted down and become aware of the greybox in her hand again. "You really think it's okay for me to keep it?"

"Look, if I had my way everyone would listen to what I have to say and use my words to run the galaxy, and I think you should keep it. So that's good enough for me," Shepard shrugged. "As for other people... well they don't have to know you have it. I'm certainly not going to tell anyone."

They smiled at each other.

"I like this you a lot better, Shep," she said, "even with the stupid haircut."

"You know I look good," Shepard grinned. "But thanks. I like this me a lot better too. Now let's hit the mess, I could eat a horse, hooves and all."

Appetite had been gone from his life for so long that Shepard had almost forgotten what it was like to actually enjoy eating once in a while. Buying Rupert real supplies had certainly helped that cause, and he'd found his stomach suddenly eager to make up for lost time. Just a few hours ago he'd inhaled a breakfast of oatmeal, poached eggs and maple sausage, but he felt like he hadn't eaten in days. His stomach rumbled audibly as he shrugged out of armour and peeled the hardsuit off, stim and medigel deposit needles pinching hard as they retracted from veins, hot sweat cooling to gel as the suits temperature controls went offline.

He was so hungry he just threw a clean uniform on and chucked his armour into the chute that would take it up to the armoury to be cleaned.

He watched the engineers scurrying across the deck through the high windows as he waited for the elevator with Kasumi. Everything seemed so urgent these days, like it had either six months, or two and a half years, ago before Virmire. Everyone could feel the end lurking for them somewhere near, drawing close like wolves on a blood trail. It made some people urgent, jittery and anxious. Most people actually, at least in Shepard's experience.

Not him. He felt serene, like he was riding a wave of white light. That would fade, he knew, as the triumph of overcoming his own darkness faded from the forefront of his mind but for the time he embraced it and enjoyed it. He tried to be as happy as he could be, wherever he was and for as long as was possible. He grinned to himself as the elevator arrived and carried them up to the crew deck.

The smell hit him as soon as the doors slid open, like a ton of bricks directly to the face, and it filled his mouth with saliva in a second. He gripped the hand rail and breathed deeply, smelling onions and green peppers, pork fat, tomato sauce and cumin, all the explosive flavours that had dominated Havana and even some of the less desperate areas of Trinidad. His stomach rumbled again, more insistent than ever, but Shepard was paralyzed for a moment, soaking in a wealth of fond memories he hadn't even known he had until that moment.

"What is Rupert cooking now?" Kasumi asked, she glanced over at him and gave him a puzzled look as she caught the look on his face.

"Congris," Shepard replied, smelling bacon and black beans. "I smell congris."

"Which is?"

"In a word? Delicious. Come on," he gave her a push toward the door, "I smell sofrito and plantains, brown sugar, chili peppers..."

"Really? Wow, I didn't know Cerberus had made you part blood hound."

"It has its uses, but that perfume you buy isn't actually made from real rose petals. In case you thought it was."

"What? That's what it says on the bottle."

"Nope," Shepard tapped the side of his nose knowingly, "you can't fool this thing anymore. Chemical perfumes smell like broken glass and barbed wire, and that is definitely chemical."

"Thanks," Kasumi rolled her eyes as they turned the corner into the mess. "Any other advice you can offer me?"

"Those boots really don't go with that hood."

"Shut up," she punched him lightly on the arm and laughed with him as he pretended to be grievously injured.

Rupert said it was a thank you for getting the crew some real food. There was indeed congris, rice and beans cooked in pork fat with chopped bacon, and ropa veija beef swimming in thick tomato sauce. For desert he had flan with caramel and plantains fried in brown sugar and butter. Shepard could never remember food having ever been this good. His cybernetic senses had amplified all the worst parts of food before, but now it felt like every flavour was exploding on his tongue.

He took his time. The mess hall was basically empty and Rupert was getting ready to clean up when he scraped the last traces of flan off the tray and licked his spoon clean. He surveyed the ruin the crew had made of the delectable lunch and an idea occurred to him. He had Rupert put together a tray from what was left and carried it to the elevator and down, to the engineering deck.

"Look who it is," Jack was reclining on her cot with her legs braced up against the wall, her nearly naked torso stretched out so every muscle popped under her pale skin. "What smells so good?"

"Cuban food," Shepard announced, setting the tray down on her desk. "Gardner can actually cook if he gets his hand on actual food."

"Really?" Jack cocked an eyebrow. "I wouldn't think you'd like Cuban food."

"Why not?" Shepard stole a handful of plantain chips and settled back in the chair as Jack pushed herself to her feet and examined his offering before sitting down on the desk and balancing the tray in her lap.

"On Pragia we ate rations nearly every day, but once in a while, when the supplies came in I guess, there'd be fruit. Not fresh, I only got any when it was about to go bad. Mushy bananas, dry old apples, a few chunks of soggy pineapple, it was all great at the time but now..." She made a face. "If it's not fresh it makes me sick to my stomach, literally. I would have thought..." She trailed off and covered herself by trying the ropa veija.

"Well old fruit isn't exactly like fresh plantain chips," Shepard said, crunching appreciatively on his pilfered handful. "But I get what you're saying. There are some things that have the same effect on me."

"Like what?" Jack wasn't looking at him, it was like she was having the conversation with her boots. Shepard thought it probably made it easier for her to pretend he wasn't there, so he just settled back, crossing his ankle over his opposite knee and thinking for a moment.

"People with knives scare the shit out of me," he said honestly. "Cerberus erased them when they brought me back, but I used to have scars all up and down my sides from knife wounds. Even when I'm in full armour every time someone pulls a knife on me it feels like I'm getting stabbed all up through my guts with icicles. I feel the same way when I see drugs, or people using drugs. It makes me dizzy and nauseous, like I can't breathe."

Jack looked up for a second, he caught a flash of blue eyes before her chin ducked in again and she returned her attention to her boots.

"I didn't have you pegged as a junkie," she said.

"I was. Red Dragon, heroin and red sand in a hypodermic. I popped myself until my veins were shot, I'd show you the track marks, but Cerberus took care of those too. I'm not sad about that, I hated always wearing long sleeves," he rubbed self consciously at the veins on the inside of his elbows, an old habit from when they used to hurt all the time.

"Fuck. That's... fucked up. You seem so normal," Jack shook her head and laughed. "Well, not normal. But not fucked up like that."

"I was really fucked up," Shepard swallowed around the ball of difficult emotions brewing in his chest, "for a really long time."

"But you're not anymore?"

Shepard sighed, working bits of plantain out from between his teeth with his tongue as he considered his answer. Ever since the incident on Pragia Jack had seemed different, less aggressively abrasive and defensive. Shepard was beginning to get the impression that there might be a real person in there, somewhere, if not an entirely well-adjusted or normal one. Very few interesting people were normal, in his experience.

"I'm not normal," he said finally. "You were right about that. I was six, or maybe five years old the first time I saw someone die,m it's one of my earliest memories. I was eight the first time I killed someone, and I was twelve when the Reds picked me up and threw me into the pit. I was never innocent. There's no normal way to react to living through that, Jack. It's too intense and insane for anyone to go through it and come out the same as everyone else."

"I get that," Jack snapped, sounding annoyed. "But you've got it together, Shepard. You aren't totally fucked."

"Maybe. Maybe not," Shepard shrugged. "I don't know. But I survived that, I pulled myself out of it with my bare hands. And if I can survive that... I can survive anything. And if I can survive anything, then I don't have anything to be afraid of."

"I'm not afraid," Jack snapped, looking up at him with her eyes smouldering.

"I'm not talking about you," Shepard replied, cocking an eyebrow at her. "You asked me about me."

Jack glared at him.

"Right. Okay, maybe I'm beginning to get what you said about us not being so different. But I don't know how you got through all that and wound up being you," she glared at him, her lips pressed into a thin line. Her gaze was intense, almost angry, and she crossed her arms across her chest defensively as her lunch got cold. "How does a junkie become a war hero?"

"By being smart," Shepard said honestly, "and finding something worth living for."

"Like what?" Jack asked. Her voice was softer than before, less angry. There was a hunger in it, a deep, painful longing that Shepard recognized from his memories of himself just a few years ago. Just a few days ago, in truth, while he had still been reeling from an entirely different sort of struggle.

"Being alive. There's so much worth seeing in the galaxy, alien oceans full of beauty to swim in, good food to eat, good jokes to laugh at... being alive is great. Take it from me," he shrugged and laughed helplessly, "I died. You'd much rather be alive."

Jack stared at him for a moment, blinking, and then looked down at her food. She tried the flan and made an approving noise, gathering up a heaping spoon of creamy vanilla and caramel sauce.

"This is good," she said after she had swallowed. "You're a weird guy, Shepard."

"I take that as a compliment," he assured her, wiping brown sugar off his hands and standing up. "Now I have to go read up on Quarian customs. We've got one last stop to make before we get that Reaper IFF and launch ourselves through the mouth of hell. So you'd better enjoy that flan while you can."

"Right sir, commander sir," Jack rolled her eyes. Shepard turned to go when she called out to him one last time.

"Hey, Shepard," she said, licking a spot of caramel off her thumb. "When you died... what did you see?"

It was a question everyone else had done a pretty good job of dancing around, no doubt expecting him to offer the information if he felt comfortable enough to do so. Not with Jack, the woman had the same reckless lack of understanding when it came to social situations that he did, but slightly less of an instinct when she tried to engage in them anyway. It made talking with her difficult, and that black question was no exception. Not because he didn't know what to say, but because he didn't know whether he should lie or not.

"It's hard to remember," he said, starting honestly, "it gives me headaches when I try. Like there's a hammer on the inside of my skull pounding out of those memories every time I try to take a look. But lately I... I think I remember most of it. It was like... like riding a roller coaster in the dark, everything always rising and falling, folding into itself, spiralling down into this penetrating black cold..." He trailed off, the image of it rising in his mind along with one of the headaches he had just described for her.

"There was nothing," he said finally. "Just freezing blackness stretching into eternity." He looked at her and shrugged, helplessly. He felt empty after saying it. "There was nothing."

"You know," Jack sighed, "I almost find that comforting. At least no one's getting any kicks out of watching me fuck up."

Shepard laughed.

"I find it comforting too," he said. "But not for the same reason."

Every moment, every breath, every heartbeat while he was still here and alive rather than wrapped in that cold was worthwhile. It was worth all the fighting, all the pain, all the burdens he had to bear to spend one moment laughing with Garrus or trading math jokes with Tali, or even talking to Jack. If this was all there was, Shepard intended to make it count and enjoy the memories, like running drunk through the ward alleys, like swimming in the ocean, and blowing up volus action figures on the Presidium.

There was so much worth living for, and so much worth dying for. How could he ever be unfulfilled?


	19. GungHo

Now this is not the end. This is not even the beginning of the end. It is only perhaps the end of the beginning.

- Admiral Constance Vaugh

* * *

><p>"I suppose I feel as though it is strange to be here, even though I always knew it was coming," Thane spoke with resolve, as though he had just finished a grand and important statement, even though neither of them had spoken for almost five minutes. His dark eyes were far away, the way they got when he stepped out of the present and into his memories for a while.<p>

"Right," Shepard nodded. "For sure. I don't suppose you'd care to elaborate a bit on that thought?"

Thane chuckled, the gravelly cadence of his voice making it sound almost like a purr. Shepard congratulated himself internally, and chalked his grand total up to five.

"Conversing with humans is strange," he said conversationally, as though he were answering Shepard's question in some way. "You're so direct."

"Point A to point B, that's humanity," Shepard shrugged and picked up his mug. "It gets the job done."

Drinking Drell candle tea was a slightly disconcerting experience, it swirled like liquid sunlight in the cup, strong enough to cast a glow over Thane's features when he leaned in to take a sip. It was fiercely spicy and citrusy, pleasantly sour and it numbed his tongue every time he took a mouthful. Shepard loved it.

"I had heard it said human conversation was not artful. I'm inclined to agree with that statement, but I don't think it's an insult as it was intended to be at the time," he smiled. "I hope that reassures you. I don't want you to think I don't enjoy your company."

"As long as you keep providing this tea I'm going to inflict myself on you whether you like it or not, Krios."

"Had I opened this conversation with a Drell, my companion would have spent several minutes thinking about what I said before continuing. Instead of asking me what I meant, he would have thought about what I said and figured it out for himself," Thane explained. "Among the Drell, and among the Asari to I think, conversation is an art form."

"It seems like that leaves a lot of room for misunderstandings," Shepard observed wryly. "Especially in your line of work."

"Perhaps, perhaps not. I have seen humans interact with each other, and for all your direct conversation you are an emotionally a subtle species. Very rarely does a human simply say what is on his mind, instead it is all double-entendres and implication. That is not how Drell interact, what is said among us is what is in the heart. Thus, as two people come to speak more often they know each other better and their conversation becomes more beautiful."

Shepard frowned, thinking about all that. It sounded like a lot of work, but he could see the appeal to. So many people never seemed to listen when you talked and so many others weren't worth listening to when they got going, it might be nice to have a Drell standard of attention paid to something as simple as conversation. Then again...

"But what about stuff like... Kasumi and Taylor? She doesn't say anything because she knows he's not interested, he doesn't pay attention to anything that goes on outside the armoury so he never hears anything and both of them are better for it," he shuddered. "It sounds like if they were Drell the situation would be a lot more complicated."

"Yes, well, humans are strange in their pair-bonding as well," Thane observed wryly. "A species that turns affection into a burden... that took me several periods of long reflection to understand."

"Are you saying that wouldn't be the most awkward thing since ever?" Shepard sipped his tea. "I call bullshit."

"All affection, whether it is felt mutually or not, improves the lives of all it touches," Thane replied. "It should be seen as a gift and celebrated, not hidden away inside ourselves where no one can appreciate that we're capable of feeling it."

Shepard frowned. His thoughts had been straying back to Alenko with increasing frequency over the last little while, ever since they had returned from the Geth base and set a course for the Omega-4 Relay. He was sailing to his doom, like a hero from the Greek tragedies of old and all he could think of was Alenko ducking his chin down as he blushed, that stupid tattoo he had, the certain kind of smile he got when Shepard was forcing him to do something stupid and silly for no reason. It was a sharp, painful feeling and no matter how he positioned himself it always seemed to be cutting into him at one angle or another.

"What about when it doesn't do anything but hurt?" He asked. "On both sides. What good is it doing then?" He sounded unaccountably bitter at the moment, and put his cup down on the table suddenly finding the tea unpalatable.

"Hm, yes, I'd heard about you and the Alliance soldier."

Shepard's head snapped up, heat flooding his face as his heart surged against the inside of his rib cage. He attempted to keep his face neutral, but he was pretty sure his blush gave him away. He could feel his cheeks and the backs of his ears burning as red as his hair.

"What do you mean?" He squeaked, not sounding at all as casual as he'd been attempting to sound.

"Commander Alenko. There's been some speculation among crew members about the extent of your relationship. I understand that you were very upset when he confronted you on the Horizon colony," his eyes narrowed slightly, "something about drinking until you vomited on the shuttle back from the planet's surface..."

"Garrus," Shepard cursed, glaring through the wall at the direction of the forward battery. "I should have known, he acts all hard with his sniper rifle and his battle scars but he's gossipy as a school girl."

"I cannot help but observe that you did not deny the allegations," Thane observed.

"Look," Shepard sighed, "there's never been anything like that between Kaidan and me. He was my best friend though, I loved him like a brother, or at least I think so, and now... He thinks I betrayed him. Which is terrible, and I know he's hurting and that's why he's so angry, but I'm more angry, because he actually thinks I'm capable of working for Cerberus, of turning my back on the Alliance... and because he thinks I would ever turn my back on him. I thought he trusted me, but obviously he never really did."

"It is a somewhat fantastical story, Shepard."

"I know it is, but Garrus believes me, and Tali and Liara and Wrex all believe me, Anderson, Admiral Hackett, and now a bunch of strangers who don't know me from Adam have no problem believing I'm back from the dead to fight for humanity. But not him." Shepard shook his head in disgust, he leaned back in his seat and cross both arms over his chest, glaring moodily away at the opposite wall. "Not the one person I was really counting on."

"I understand. So you hate Commander Alenko?"

"What?" Shepard blinked, returning to the conversation from his mire of black emotions. "No. Of course not. But I'm angry, and when I think about him it's like swallowing a bag of ice. There's nothing good about what's going on between us."

"But he's what you're thinking about now, as the mouth of Hell looms in our future," Thane observed.

He'd thought about Kaidan at the end of everything before. As his fingers slipped away from consciousness above Alchera he had thought about Kaidan, and that strange spark hovering in the air between them. He'd been sad then. He was angry now, and it was a very different experience.

"Loving someone other than ourselves is the best thing any of us can do with our lives," Thane said lightly. "It gives us the greatest strength we will ever know. Even when it causes us pain, it's always worthwhile. And as long as you're both still alive, the story isn't over, that thought should give you hope as well. Strength and hope is what we get from loving one another."

Shepard sat back and thought about that for several minutes as Thane poured himself more tea. It was quite the thought. Like so much else, his feelings for Kaidan had felt like a burden since coming back to life. Just one more thing about his former life that had turned to shit over the last few years.

"That's... quite the statement." He said finally.

"My relationship with my son has changed a number of things for me," Thane confessed. "I look at old memories that once held nothing but despair with new eyes and see so much worth taking strength from. It is a better way to live."

"I think you're right about that," Shepard drank the last of his tea before it got any colder. He couldn't stop being angry at Kaidan for what had happened between them, but he didn't have to let it weigh him down. If nothing else, he wanted to see him again so they could talk when he wasn't shell shocked and reeling. There were a number of colourful things Shepard wanted to say to him.

"Maybe there's something to this artful conversation stuff," he confessed, "but I don't know if it's for me. I tend to go with loud and explosive, and it's been working out for me so far."

"I certainly can't argue with your results," Thane agreed. "But this was a very artful conversation, Shepard. Thank you."

"Hey, no problem," Shepard pushed himself to his feet. "Usually in the Alliance we just grab-ass and hit each other, so it's nice to experience different kinds of friendship. Good luck out there, Krios, and good hunting. I've got your back."

"And I am at your shoulder, Shepard, always. I'm very proud to be here with you," he smiled, "I am proud to call you my friend."

They clasped hands over the table. Shepard couldn't say when exactly it had happened but life on the SR2 had become normal for him, almost homey, the way the original Normandy had felt back in the days. There were some things he could never fix, some things that would never be the same, but he was happy here, as happy as he could be. Or he had been, until the Collectors had snatched his crew away. They smiled at each other once more before their hands dropped and Shepard excused himself.

He knew better than to head to the forward battery. Garrus got silent and cold before a big fight, and though he'd be polite if Shepard forced his way in his head would be miles away from any conversation they might attempt to have. Tali got nervous and hiccoughed at times like this, and Jack was prowling like a tiger in a cage below, a dangerous sign. Shepard headed up to the combat deck and right. Mordin was at his terminal in the tech lab, typing away diligently even now.

"Mordin," Shepard said breathily, running his fingers through his hair to give it a windblown, reckless tumble. He unclasped the first button of his uniform and pulled the zipper down a little, exposing a line of nut brown skin.

"Shepard. How can I help?" Mordin asked, not looking up from his work.

"I can't deny my feelings for you anymore," Shepard confessed, folding one hand against his forehead as he fanned himself with the other, his face twisting into a mask of longing. "It's just too hard. Now, before the end comes, I just need you to hold me, Mordin."

"Shepard," Mordin was looking up now, his broad weathered face politely confused. "We talked about this..."

"Don't push me away!" Shepard cried, striding toward him. Mordin retreated, almost stumbling over himself in his haste to get away. "I know that somewhere in there you feel the same way as I do! Don't fight this!"

"Impossible!" Mordin assured him desperately as Shepard lunged across the station at him. He jumped back like he was dodging an angry varren. "Flattered by the attention, Shepard, really. But simply impossible!"

"Take me now, Mordin! Right here on this table!"

Mordin's eyes narrowed with sudden suspicion as Shepard languished for all he was worth, one hand stretched out toward him as the other clasped tight against his breast. Shepard sighed dramatically, lifting the hand on his chest to his forehead and flopping dramatically on the counter, absolutely distraught with longing.

"I ache for you!" He said, clawing at the air between them.

"Shepard..."

"Every moment we're apart is an eternity of agony my darling! Fly to me!"

"Shepard..."

It was too much for him. He clutched the edge of the counter and laughed, convulsively, as Mordin scowled at him. It had been a long time since anything was this funny and Shepard enjoyed himself, doubling over and breathing hard between residual bursts of laughter as Mordin crossed his arms over his chest.

"Terrifying, Shepard," he said shaking his head slowly, "absolutely terrifying."

"Gee, thanks," Shepard rolled his eyes, wiping his mouth on the back of his hand and rubbing at his aching stomach. He felt limp after that explosion of emotion, spent, but in a good way.

"Sure that any hormonal sentient would love to have you. Human, Turian, lusty Elcor," he waved his hand as if to say 'etcetera,' "but Salarians have no hormonal drives. Physical relationships, sticky, uncomfortable-"

"Disappointing for everyone involved," Shepard nodded. "I get it Mordin, don't worry. You aren't my type anyway."

"I understand. Physical power attracted to physical power, not intellect," Mordin nodded knowingly.

"Yeah, I mean Captain Kirrahe really did it for me," Shepard rolled his eyes. "I'm really getting the no understanding of hormone driven species. And I resent the implication that I'm a dumb jarhead, I thought you knew me better."

"Of course, apologies. Enormous respect for your intellect, Shepard, very impressive especially for a soldier with no formal academic education. Joke about Krogan in lightspeed vacuum very amusing," Mordin laughed at the memory. "Keen mind for mathematics, I know all of this. I was referring to your relationship with the Alliance marine."

Shepard stared at him.

"Does everyone know about that?" He asked helplessly.

"Small ship, talk travels fast," Mordin shrugged, "nothing to be ashamed of. All hormonal relationships are complicated."

"No offense, but I'm really not comfortable having this conversation with you," Shepard poked at his terminal, scrolling through columns of unfamiliar Salarian numerals. "Did you manage to do anything with those scans you took?"

"Yes!" Mordin brightened up and walked around to his terminal again. With a few keystrokes he brought up a holographic model of Shepard's body, cybernetics and synthetic enhancements picked out throughout the muscles and bones in bright orange light. "Very interesting. Based on current state of bodily systems and projected functions of cybernetics your organic tissues regenerate at a massive rate. If projections hold true... implications for life span, general health, aging, all very good. You are the picture of health, Shepard. No need for concern."

"Well, that's good I suppose," Shepard examined the constellation of light that glowed between the holograms ears. His brain was a labyrinth of orange light, three pounds of technological witchcraft he would need approximately a lifetime of education to even begin to understand. "Did you figure out what all that is?"

"Ah, yes, the brain. The brain is... very complicated Shepard, I'm sure you know, even without cybernetics. Some of it is simply processors, expansion of data retention capabilities, enhanced processing power for sensory perception..."

"Check and check," Shepard confirmed. "But there's nothing sinister in there? No control chips or kill switches?"

"No," Mordin gave him a quizzical look. "You were expecting something else?"

"Not expecting them, no," Shepard zipped his uniform back up, flattening the seams so they sat with proper military crispness. As much as he enjoyed the freedoms of not serving on a strictly military ship he was always fastidiously neat. It was probably a reaction to having been so filthy for so long. "Just wanted to confirm it, I guess. Thanks for running these tests for me, Mordin."

"Plenty of time. Also, came up with new joke," he tapped on his omni-tool and Shepard's lit up in response. Shepard pulled up the message Mordin had sent him and examined the complex columns of equations that described a Quarian grandmother knitting the universe into existence. It was really very clever, if you had a working understanding of particle physics. Shepard laughed.

"Also, after running a few simulations managed to generate new stimulant regimen. Should be at least twenty three percent more effective," Mordin sent him that as well. "Glad to be able to do my part, Shepard. Thank you for trusting me."

"Of course I trust you, you're my truest love remember?" Shepard grinned and Mordin gave him a playful shove on the arm.

"Data has finished compiling. Work to do."

"Whatever you say, Mordin. See you on the other side of this."

"Looking forward to it, Shepard."


	20. Higher Than Ever

We find glory when we do great things, but we find happiness when we do small things with great love and integrity.

- Senai Destr

* * *

><p>He remembered learning how to read.<p>

It's a strange thing to remember, especially compared to the backdrop of his life at the time. Violence, starvation, diphtheria and measles running rampant in the gutter-town of Trinidad, and what he remembered, what he would always remember, was when the little squiggles on the food wrappers first started making sense to him. Learning to read had meant realizing that all that colourful chaos had a pattern to it, and if he could just understand that pattern he could force himself to understand a little more of the world around him.

It had been magical, watching meaning unfold in front of him like that. Street signs, advertisements, graffiti and newspapers crumpled in the gutters, all of it was suddenly data that could be imputed and analyzed and stored away in neat, orderly fashion. The world had always felt like it was screaming at him, jabbering constantly in a foreign language and beating him into the pavement every day under the merciless onslaught of reality. Understanding it a little better had given him control, not a lot of control or anything that was meaningful, but enough to pull him out of the howling animalistic reaction that had been the only emotion his warped mind could produce. It was what ultimately made him human, or at least started him on the first steps toward that lofty ambition.

Learning. Reasoning. Understanding the world. These were the things that made animals into men.

And yet he found he lived most of his life at least half way on instinct. It was the same feral instinct that had kept him alive for years, a living thing inside him that could not be ignored. No amount of intellect could override that certain slimy gut feeling that told him something was wrong, or dangerous, or not to be trusted. Nothing could suppress the firm resolve he felt when he decided something was right. It wasn't logical, but it made sense.

He needed to be the best in both ways, and bring them together. His ability to do that was what made him better than other men. And he was better. If there was one man who had to make this decision, well it was better him than anyone else who was available at the moment.

So he made it. Intellect and instinct, the animal and the man. The Illusive Man could not be trusted, he knew this, knew it to be a fact of the universe. He knew it like he knew he needed to breathe, like day followed night, like the smell of the ocean before a storm. He couldn't be trusted with this.

There were other reasons, but that was the long and the short of it. The Illusive Man had no line, no sacred ground where he dared not tread. He would commit monstrosities with the information in this base, take humanity down to a dark place where there was nothing Shepard had grown to love and admire about his species. He wasn't Alliance, he hadn't sworn any vows and he answered to no one, least of all the human race he claimed to represent.

Honour, respect, compassion, sacrifice, what did any of that mean to the Illusive Man? Nothing. It meant nothing. And Shepard had not come slamming back to life in agony and torment, he had not killed his way into this horrible place and seen what he had seen, he had not lost everything he had lost, only to turn his back on those things and throw in with him.

He made the choice. No. He said no.

He had a line. He had sworn vows, he answered to people, and above all he had a line set in stone that could not be crossed, not for anything.

It was a moment that hung ripe and heavy in his memory, a grander thing than most of what he'd done. He'd gone through two hellish weeks of withdrawal barricaded in a hotel room the size of a prison cell, he'd fought through Elysium, taken the Cipher into his mind, lost Ash, died, come back and now he had made that choice and fought that beast, rising like Satan from the depths of hell itself.

He was proud of himself, proud of his crew, proud of his friends. And in a few moments it was probably all going to be pointless anyway, because they would all be dead.

The Normandy shook like she was coming apart. Shepard had broken two ribs launching himself across that terrifying empty space between the station and the ship and his suit, still in combat mode, had compensated for the injury with a massive dose of painkillers and stims he had nothing to do with now that he was safe. High as a kite, Shepard felt the envelope of the relay pull them in and he knew the Normandy wasn't going to make it.

He had been using Jack as a crutch, blaming the injury when in truth he just wasn't sure he could walk straight without her. She was uncharacteristically cooperative, perhaps because Shepard had gone sliding belly-first toward the open mouth of hell to save her quite recently. Shepard tightened his grip on her shoulder and looked at her. She was already looking at him and he felt her arm tighten around him in response. They had maybe a second before the shift took them.

Jack jutted her jaw out at him the way she always did, like she was ready for a fight. Her eyes were hard, resolute, unwavering. She was absolutely sure they were going to make this jump, Shepard saw it in an instant.

It gave him hope, and then they were streaking through the galaxy at incalculable speeds towards victory or doom.

The ship shuddered once, hard enough to send the two of them stumbling into the wall of the ship. Joker cried out as something snapped loud enough for Shepard to hear it by the door. A moment passed. Then another.

"Little help here?" Joker gasped from the helm.

Shepard lurched forward, found the emergency kit in the wall and loaded a couple shots of medigel.

"Cards on the table Jeff," he gasped, dropping to his knees beside the wounded pilot, "I'm really high right now."

"What?" Joker gasped, looking up at him white-faced and in shock.

"Nevermind," Shepard stuck the needle in the muscle of the stomach, plunging it deep as the muscles relaxed in shock. Joker yelped, but a moment later the vice of pain loosened its grip on him and he slumped back in his seat, breathing evenly.

Shepard leaned back on his heels for an instant, then gave up entirely and dropped back on his ass. He wrenched the helmet off his head and threw it idly to the side, not caring where it wound up. The world swam around him in playful clouds of colour and light.

"So where to?" Joker asked after a moment, looking down at him. He was still rigid in his seat, but his face was remarkably mellow, like this were any other day of their lives.

"The nearest bar," Shepard said, without an instant of hesitation.

"Omega it is," he glanced at the communications board, "Illusive Man on line one for you, commander."

"Good," Shepard rubbed his hands together and tried to remember how his legs worked. Luckily Jack was there and she pulled him to his feet and pointed him in the right direction. "I'll send Chakwas up to see you."

"Whatever." He sounded bored.

"Shepard," she said when they were out of earshot, "I... thanks. Just... thanks."

Maybe it was the drugs. It was probably the drugs, but Shepard looped both arms around her and crushed her quickly against his armoured chest.

"I'm really high," he informed her happily.

"I know, Shepard," she shrugged him off, smiling. "Now go rip the Illusive Man a new asshole. And see the doc."

"Right. Do you want to get some ink later?" He blinked owlishly as an evil grin broke over her face.

"Totally."

"It's a date. I'll do my hair," he turned abruptly on his heel, "but duty calls."

* * *

><p>Showering while high was an experience created to reward men for all the hardships they went through in life. Shepard decided that the second time he rinsed his hair out as the hot water rushed down his back and let its heat soak into his aching muscles.<p>

Due to the wonders of ceramic bone implants his busted ribs were nothing but a distant ache. Chakwas had advised him against doing anything too strenuous and sent him on his way without so much as a bandage. He ran his fingers over the skin, there wasn't so much as a bruise to betray the trauma and the flesh was only slightly swollen under his fingers. Other than that he had nothing but a few vague aches to show for the last several hours of pain.

Shepard snatched his toothbrush off the vanity and brushed his teeth three times, until his mouth felt as clean as the rest of him. Then he shaved meticulously and realized that his scars were entirely gone. He squinted at himself and realized his eyes had cleared as well, they looked almost alive again and the same deep, fierce tropical blue they had always been. He flossed his teeth and clipped his fingernails and found a spent almost ten minutes smoothing seams and measuring cuffs on his freshly laundered uniform. By then the high was wearing off and he was becoming aware of his limitations again.

"Fuck it," he sighed, taking one last look at his perfectly clean, perfectly pressed, perfectly ready for anything image in the mirror.

He teetered over to his bed, heeling out of his boots as he went, and almost killed himself tripping over his own feet as he went down the stairs. One boot still clinging halfway to his foot he collapsed, face first, on the bed. The sheets were clean and cool against his cheek. He twitched his leg, once, and the boot slid the rest of the way off his foot and hit the floor with a thunk.

Shepard closed his eyes and slept the sleep of the truly exhausted, huge and dreamless and black as death.

"Shepard," Aria didn't turn around as her guards deposited him in her presence four hours later, only shoving him a little bit, "I didn't expect to see you again. My sources told me you had gone through the Omega-4 Relay."

"We did," Shepard replied, realigning the seams of his uniform and glaring at her handsy assistants. "Now we're back."

Her troops had shown up the moment the Normandy docked with the Omega asteroid, ready to bash heads if they didn't get what they wanted. Shepard had shaken himself awake after only two hours of sleep and gone with them willingly. He thought he had a handle on Aria, and Aria didn't want to kill him. In fact, he was pretty sure he knew exactly how this conversation was going to go.

"And that is very interesting," Aria's voice was as light and casual as he expected, but her sapphire eyes were hungry when the light hit them, predatory. "Soon everyone in the galaxy is going to want to know what you saw there."

"And I'll tell them," Shepard promised grimly. "I want every man, woman and child in this galaxy to know what happened there before my boots hit Earth again."

"Ah yes, your trial," Aria turned back to the pulsing, gyrating sea of the club floor below and thought for a moment, her delicate fingers perched on her bottom lip. "Maybe we could help each other, Shepard. You tell me what happened, send a little data my way, and I do what I can to see that it's properly distributed."

Shepard gave her a flat, unimpressed look.

"I hope that was a low-ball opening offer and you don't think I'm actually stupid enough to buy it," he said, cocking a brow at her and shaking his head slowly. "I could sell this story on the extranet for half a million credits right now."

Aria turned to face him full on and met his eyes squarely for the first time. She looked annoyed, which was dangerous, but after a moment her frown broke and became a tiny smirk. She brushed his estimate away with one little blue hand, chuckling darkly.

"Hardly half a million," she said, "but I see your point. You can't blame me for trying though, I didn't get rich writing checks." She made a broad gesture with one hand. "Make me an offer then, Shepard."

"My ship needs a few patches," he pulled up his omni-tools and sent her list he'd put together, "and hands to put them in place. Just enough to get me through the relays to Earth."

"Very manageable," Aria said after a cursory examination. "It won't take more than a couple days for me to get these put in place."

"And my crew needs to unwind," Shepard added after a moment, "so throw a night of free drinks in there as well and we've got a deal."

Aria blinked at him, her eyes narrowing.

"What am I getting out of this deal?" She asked suspiciously.

"Video and data files of what we found beyond the Omega-4 Relay, as well as pre-recorded statement made by me explaining it and swearing all of it as truth," Shepard drew up the data files but didn't send them, they hung in the air between them and Shepard could see the hunger in her eyes that had nothing to do with business. Information was more important than money in the Terminus Systems. Much more important.

"And forty-eight hours of silence," she said after a moment, tearing her eyes away from the display. "For forty-eight hours you neither confirm nor deny the validity of any information anyone might question you about."

"For ship repairs and drinks?"

"Yes."

"Deal."

He sent her the data while she arranged for the repairs on his ship. For all the stories of business in the Terminus, it was very clean and bloodless. It almost felt like they should shake on it, but that was of course ridiculous. He nodded at her instead, almost saluted but then he wasn't sure if she would have him shot for it so he decided not to.

"Shepard," she said before he could retreat. She took a step closer to him and raised one hand in an almost lazy gesture, to smooth out a lone wrinkle on the shoulder of his uniform. Her eyes were completely unreadable and Shepard felt like it was best to stand perfectly still and not react at all, the way he would if a venomous snake was crawling on him.

"I can see you haven't taken my advice," she smirked at his raised eyebrow, the only reaction he felt it was safe to allow himself. "I told you to find a nice young thing to keep you warm. You had such a cold look on your face before, I thought maybe you had. But you haven't."

Her teeth showed through her smile.

Shepard didn't move. He certainly hadn't been expecting this part of the conversation. He was really feeling that venomous snake metaphor at the moment.

"Maybe you like a little more experience," Aria speculated. She was looking absolutely ruthless now and Shepard knew he had to pull a smoke bomb out of somewhere, fast. Something clever and witty, he decided, that would improve his reputation as a dashing bad ass.

"I'm gay," he blurted. Terror overrode ego at times like this. "Like, really gay." He paused. "So... not into women."

"I'm not a woman," Aria reminded him, a hint of reproach making itself known around the edges of her voice.

"Yeah, okay, I get it. Monogendered. But you have little narrow shoulders, skinny arms, soft hips and _those_," he gestured at her breasts with a shudder. "No thank you. You might not be women, but you sure as hell aren't men."

Aria stared at him for a long, hard moment and Shepard thought that he probably should have stopped talking a while ago. After a moment she sighed and dropped her hand.

"Human sexuality is so primitive," she rolled her eyes. "I can't imagine what it's like to have such mundane taste."

"I'd say I was flattered, but 'terrified' is probably more accurate," Shepard grinned. "Why me anyway? I'm just some dumbass in a uniform, you can definitely do better."

"Please," Aria rolled her eyes again and sighed, "do you have any idea how boring sex gets after a few centuries? You're a war hero who became a Spectre and saved the galaxy, got blown apart by Collectors and resurrected by terrorists, fell from grace, became an outlaw, and then finished it off by coming back from the Omega-4. You're interesting, despite your attachment to... whatever you call that." She gestured negligently at his red hair.

"God," Shepard sighed sympathetically, "I can't imagine a time when I would be so bored I'd need that much baggage just to get it up."

Aria laughed involuntarily, her teeth flashing between her painted lips again. Shepard saw that as a good sign, an improvement for his chances of getting out of here alive. He had a sneaking suspicion that people who rejected Aria's advances didn't make out very well on Omega, and he was just smart and humble enough to know that he didn't want to deal with her displeasure at the moment.

"Off you go then," she sniffed, turning her shoulder to him in obvious dismissal. "I've already alerted the bar, none of your crew members will have to pay for drinks tonight."

"Much obliged," Shepard tipped an imaginary hat to her, "and my lips are sealed for the next forty-eight hours."

"Don't keep them sealed too tightly," Aria warned him as he retreated down the steps away from her, "I was serious, Shepard. You need to unwind, repression is coming off of you in waves."

"Right, check, got it," Shepard waved, "ending the conversation now."

He scurried down the steps, tapping at his omni-tool to send a ship wide message to the people onboard the Normandy. And well... since he was already here.

He headed for the bar, but found his way blocked by a sudden flash of tattoos with a bottle of whiskey in one hand and an evil look on her face.

"Are you going to pussy out now that you're sober?" She asked him, one eyebrow arched. She had that look on her face, that jutting jaw and the challenge in her eyes.

"No way," Shepard snatched the bottle and took a pull, tipping the whole thing over his head and letting his throat pump it down. "Let's go now, while people are still catching a little rest before they come here."

"Yeah," Jack cheered and grabbed him by the shoulder, dragging him toward the door, "and you're buying, because Vakarian told me you puked like a little bitch after I left."

"I couldn't help it," Shepard laughed, "my body had to expel that poison before I withered and died."

"Pussy. What are you going to get?" She yanked the hem of his shirt up, checking for pre-existing marks. "So clean and pretty. You should get something really foul, like skull puking up a human heart."

"That sounds like something a serial killer would get," Shepard said dubiously.

"Well yeah. That's why it would be funny."

"I'm going to get a boat," he confided, "I always wanted a boat. Before my life went totally insane my master plan was to buy a boat after I got my pension and live out my retirement on the Caribbean sea. Sunshine and sea water, that was all I ever wanted."

"That sounds fucking boring."

"If I couldn't be here, that's where I would want to be," Shepard shrugged. "Anyway, it's just a reminder really, this isn't the end. No matter what, there's somewhere and someone I want to be that's worth all this fighting."

"You really are a loser," Jack sneered. "You can't even get a tattoo without an inspiring speech to go along with it."

"Sorry, I know it's no heart-vomiting psycho tattoo," he rolled his eyes. "Are we going to do this or are you going to pick on me all day?"

"Don't worry," Jack grinned, "we're going to do both."

* * *

><p>Crap in a hat! I can't believe I wrote twenty chapters to this thing. I never expected this to go on for so long, and we still have a whole other game to get through! Kaidan will, of course, feature much more prominently in the Mass Effect 3 story, and we might also get a glimpse of Liara who I just realized hasn't been in this at all yet. Oops.<p>

Thanks to everyone for their support once again! It really brightens my day to see review alerts when I get home!


	21. Trials

The only thing we can do when it rains is let it rain.

- Meertle Sorn, Salarian Philosopher

* * *

><p>It was raining.<p>

When did it ever rain in Cuba? The best part about this whole damn mission had been the idea of getting out of ships and metal hallways so he could spend a little time in paradise before the worst happened. But was raining and it had been for hours, the entire trip from Havana to this beach outside of Trinidad it had rained like the world was ending. Kaidan shook water from his hair as he scanned the beach surrounding the Normandy. Joker was talking to the newly appointed Admiral Anderson. He kept pointing off into the mist rising between the palm trees that ringed the lagoon.

"He just walked off. Said he'd be back when you guys showed up," Joker shrugged. "To be honest, if he did run, I hope you never find him. Shepard did more good in a couple months than you assholes did in two years and now you want to put him in military prison."

Anderson was talking, explaining. He was good at that now, after a couple years as a politician.

Kaidan frowned. There was a dock for fishing boats a little way down the beach and though the rain and mist obscured the details he thought he saw movement there. He glanced over his shoulder at the guards assembled around Anderson and Joker. They wanted Shepard's arrest to be the textbook version, dress blues, guns in holsters, guards and neutral press shots. Professional, and sterile. Kaidan turned his back on them and headed down the beach himself. He could see footprints along the water line, being washed out by the encroaching tide.

Water ran down his neck and soaked into the lining of his hard suit. Vancouver's rain this time of year was cold and penetrating; it bypassed clothing and settled in the marrow of his bones. Cuba's rain was gentle and warm, it caressed his face, peppered it with tiny wet kisses. He found himself enjoying the walk as he followed the fading footprints down the beach. He found Shepard's boots jammed under the two plank stairs that led up to the dock, their glistening leather now covered with lumps of wet sand. Pools of clothing dotted the dock, Alliance blues complete with medals, under shirt, underwear and socks.

Kaidan stared out over the rain-speckled water of the lagoon and caught sight of movement again. Crimson hair. His stomach twisted alarmingly, and he stopped himself from running the last few feet to the end of the dock. Shepard was a strong swimmer, he cut through the clear blue water with impressive speed. When he reached the dock he pulled up and squinted through the soft rain. His scars were gone for the most part, and his eyes were bluer than the ocean around him, still the bluest things Kaidan had ever seen, and they still had the power to make him feel like he was being electrocuted when they settled on him.

"I never thought I'd be glad to see that stupid haircut," Kaidan said, finally, to break the silence.

Shepard ran his fingers through his hair, pushing strands of it out of his eyes. His eyes and face betrayed nothing. Kaidan wasn't used to being so closed off, Shepard had always been an open book to him. Now he couldn't even tell if he was still angry. He couldn't really tell if Shepard had ever been angry at all, he'd just assumed after everything... it made sense that he would be angry. But he looked perfectly calm.

"I never thought you'd be happy to see any part of me," he said finally. His voice was perfectly mild, composed as flawlessly as his stony, expressionless face. It did nothing to hide the fury seething underneath it; even his mechanical eyes seemed to smoulder as Shepard looked up at him.

"Shepard..." Kaidan sighed.

"You're here to arrest me, Alenko. How did you think I was going to react to this?" Shepard swam over to the ladder and pulled himself up. He was naked of course, and though Kaidan struggled not to react to it the best he could do was make sure Shepard didn't realize he was reacting to it. Shepard scooped up his boxers, soaked through from sitting in the rain, and wrung them out onto the dock.

"I'd hoped you would react like an Alliance officer. What are you doing out here swimming in the rain?" He stared out over the misty water. "Aren't there sharks down there?"

"Probably, but after everything I've seen sharks don't really scare me," he pulled his boxers on and turned to face Kaidan. "The ocean's been the one consistently good thing in my life and it's been either five, or seven, or a million years since I saw it, depending on how you look at it. I wanted to have a swim, you know, before my court martial."

The entire time Kaidan had known Shepard he had been covered in scars. First they had been the tangle of old marks left over from his life on the street. Then they were the scars of whatever Cerberus had done to him, unearthly orange light emanating from their centres. They seemed to have faded now. The worst of them had been on his face, and they were gone now, but laced across his muscular torso and arms there were faint outlines of what must have been extensive injuries. His back and chest was a network of lines, it looked like someone had painted a spider web on him in pale ink, and he had a tattoo now, a two-masted sailboat worked across his chest over the heart with the name 'Harmony' written across the bow in tropical blue ink. As Kaidan watched he rolled his right shoulder and winced as though the action pained him.

"I didn't want this to happen, Shepard. They thought having me here would make it easier," he hated that he felt the need to explain. But this was Shepard. The man that had shaped him, made him who he was, for better or for worse and no matter what he was now... Seeing that look on his face, in his eyes, was like having a knife twisted in his gut. "I didn't want to- I mean..." He sighed with frustration and wiped water off his face. "They thought it would make it easier. For you."

"It doesn't," Shepard informed him curtly.

"If this is about what happened on Horizon-"

"It's not about what you said on Horizon," Shepard presented his hands to him, wrists held together. "Do you want to slap the cuffs on, or can I get dressed first?"

"It's not that kind of arrest," Kaidan grumbled, crossing his arms over his chest. "You're not making this any easier on anyone involved. Anderson is half convinced you just ran off."

"Why should I make it easier? You're not worried about me and Anderson, Alenko. You're worried about me and you, and I don't think it's my job to reassure you anymore. In fact, I know it's not. Things are not good between us, Alenko. I'm not okay with how this has turned out and I don't care if that makes you feel bad," Shepard found his t-shirt and gave it the same treatment as his boxers. A puddle formed on the wet dock and ran through the chinks in the planks. "Just like I don't care whether or not the story that runs tomorrow is politically convenient for the Alliance."

"You aren't being fair," Kaidan protested, his temper flaring.

"You chose your side," Shepard shot back.

Kaidan took a step back. He had never seen Shepard actually look angry. Even when they had been fighting side by side, when they'd been facing foes whose dearest desires involved them gutted and spit over a fire, he had met them with a smile and laughter rather than anger. He was angry now, but Kaidan refused to let himself be intimidated by it. Kaidan surged forward and grabbed him by the shoulder.

"I chose my side before I ever met you, Shepard," he said, unable to resist the urge to shove him back, make him turn and have this conversation face to face. He wasn't yelling, he didn't yell, but he was feeling more and more like that was a rule he could put on hiatus. "Do you think I should have betrayed the Alliance for you?"

"I never fought against the Alliance," Shepard put his hand on Kaidan's shoulder and tried to shove him away but he wouldn't be moved. "You decided you didn't trust me, that you didn't want to have anything to do with me. You decided Kaidan, and that's not an opinion. That's what happened. You turned your back on me, literally."

"You disappeared for two years. I was the one who got left behind, Shepard."

"I was dead!" Shepard glared at him. "I was dead, and when I came back everything was different, and everything was terrible, but nothing was worse than you. I thought we were friends, Kaidan! I thought you trusted me. I thought-" He stumbled, breathing hard, and obviously struggled to control whatever he was about to say.

"You thought what?" Kaidan asked. Shepard avoided his eyes. The air between them had changed, picked up a hint of that charge that had lingered between them on the first Normandy. Kaidan's stomach twisted again. He could feel himself reacting to Shepard's proximity in a way he hadn't reacted to anything in two years.

"You know what I thought," Shepard said bitterly. He was trying to turn away now, to escape Kaidan's grip.

"I want to hear you say it," Kaidan insisted, refusing to let him go.

"Tough shit. I think it's about time you didn't get something you want," Shepard replied. He still wouldn't look Kaidan in the eyes.

Kaidan wanted to scream. He wanted to shake him, hit him, hold him, kiss him.

"I never got anything I wanted," he said quietly. His other hand came up and touched Shepard's chin gently, where he used to carry that scar he rubbed when he was thinking deeply. Shepard flinched away from him like he was used to being hit, but he finally looked up again and met Kaidan's eyes.

"Neither did I," he said softly.

They looked at each other, silent for a moment, in the rain. Kaidan's hand was still on his shoulder. His other hand was against Shepard's chin and it seemed to be moving up, across his cheek. Shepard didn't react to the touch. They seemed to be closer than they'd been a moment before. The rain was more insistent now, it turned the Normandy into an unsteady silhouette in the gloom, but it was warm and this far outside the city the air was still sweet. Outside of the patter of rain on the sand and sea it was very quiet all around them.

Kaidan looked away. He could feel something inside him that wanted to believe Shepard. More than he wanted to kiss him, he wanted to believe him. If everything that Shepard had said was true than he hadn't abandoned him, hadn't run off into the wild blue yonder for two years and re-emerged as terrorist lackey with a story too stupid to be taken seriously. If Shepard was telling the truth than everything he'd thought was a lie, the friendship and camaraderie, the laughter, the spark that smouldered in the air between them begging to be touched, to be pulled close between the two of them and nurtured into true fire, all of that was real. All of it was true.

All he had to do was believe him. But he... he didn't. He wasn't sure, so he looked away.

"Shepard-"

"Shut the fuck up."

Shepard commanded and he obeyed. He thought things were different, but it appeared that sometimes, on some levels, some things never changed.

And some things did. Shepard planted both hands on his chest and shoved Kaidan off the edge of the dock. His hardsuit reacted with panic as the sea closed over him, it had been programmed to understand that water over five feet deep and steel armour were a bad, bad combination. In a second, it released every seal and clamp, letting the armour fall off into the water so he could push himself to the surface, sputtering and spitting and ready to kill.

Shepard was already in his dress blues, his boots dangling from one hand as he walked down the beach away from him. Despite what had just happened, and despite the fact he was soaking wet and walking down a beach in formal military attire, he looked serene. Like a man who has never in his life been out of control of a situation. Kaidan grabbed hold of the ladder that led up to the dock and swore quietly and furiously, mostly at himself.

Through it, over it, he could hear Shepard laughing.

The trial was surprisingly painless. He had to wear the hat, and he hated the hat. The judge also, clearly, had some sort of issue with him which probably should have worried him but didn't. He okayed microphones and cameras in the first twenty minutes, and smirked down at Shepard as they flooded into the courtroom while Anderson fumed beside him. Shepard probably should have been worried, but he wasn't. Sharks and Collectors hadn't scared him, a fat man in an ugly costume wasn't going to make him break a sweat.

The worst part was when Kaidan took the stand. They hadn't spoken, or made eye contact, since Shepard had pushed him off the dock in Cuba. At the time, and afterward in the shuttle as they made their way back to Havana to catch a real plane with both of them dripping saltwater, it had seemed really funny. Looking back on it, he recognized it for what it was. Petty, and cruel, and a defense mechanism.

He shouldn't have done it. He should have apologized. But it was too late, and he was pretty sure that Alenko had enough dirt on him to undermine the whole trial. Up until he watched Kaidan climb the steps to the stand and swear himself in he had been very confident, ready for anything. Now it felt like his heart was trying to climb out of his mouth. He sat forward in his seat, his face going still and serious. People noticed, it was quite distinct compared to the lazy smile he'd been wearing through the proceedings up to this point.

Kaidan knew things about him, knew more than anyone else in the galaxy, and it would surely cause a scandal were he to reveal certain things about his past. More than that, the thought of everyone knowing about it was... uncomfortable. It twisted his stomach around into a hard knot of agony, to be honest, and he tasted bile in the back of his mouth as Kaidan took his hat off and folded it on his lap. A cold sweat was prickling the back of his neck.

He was not a self-conscious man. He found it was better to be self-aware, and he had studied himself at such depth that he was very aware of his own flaws and limitations. Meditation had helped with that, and he felt more centered than ever, still and calm in the midst of madness. The thought of everyone knowing, EVERYONE because of the damn cameras he hadn't cared less about until that moment, made him want to sink into the floor and disappear. It wasn't just the murder, which was certainly bad enough, or the drugs which still had the power to make his veins throb with a mixture of revulsion and sick longing. Things had happened to him in Trinidad that he'd never in his life told anyone else about, and the thought of strangers knowing that about him was the first truly frightening thing he'd faced since his first moments on the Lazarus table. He'd thought he wasn't afraid of anything anymore, but now he knew differently.

Their eyes met just once, almost by accident, and Shepard knew that Kaidan could see the fear clawing at him despite his sincere effort to hide it. Kaidan had always been far too adept at reading his moods.

Then the questions began. Soft at first, about their days on the SR1, and Kaidan gave perfect military answers, short and clipped and volunteering nothing he wasn't asked for. Shepard felt his heart slowly return to its proper place inside him. He began to feel a little safer. Then, from nowhere it seemed, the questioner rounded on Kaidan like a wolf.

"Did Commander Shepard ever do or say anything that would cause you to doubt his mental stability?"

"No," Kaidan replied after a moment. "I've never known Commander Shepard to be anything less than capable, intelligent and decisive."

"What about when that video clip surfaced just after Commander Shepard... commandeered an Alliance frigate?" The man had an oily look to him, as though he would be slightly slimy to the touch, and he was sweating through his blues even in the relatively temperate room.

"I asked Shepard about it, and he gave me what I felt to be an adequate explanation. To my knowledge he was never anything less than entirely sane," Kaidan gave the man a cool look, a slight frown creasing his forehead.

"And what exactly was that reason?"

"Objection," Shepard's advocate chimed in, "hearsay is not admissible here."

"Sustained," the judge waved for them to move on.

The questioner scowled, but moved on. "So you never knew Commander Shepard to be anything less than capable, intelligent and decisive? If that's true why did you accuse him of treason when you met him on Horizon?"

Of course he had submitted a record of that conversation to the Alliance. Kaidan was a soldier to his bones, and an unexpectedly large part of being a successful one was being very good at paperwork. Shepard squirmed uncomfortably in his seat, unsure of how much of the subtext of that conversation had translated to transcript form.

"Even smart men can be wrong," Kaidan replied stonily. "And I... was shocked to see him alive. My reaction wasn't entirely level-headed."

"So... you don't think he's a traitor."

Kaidan paused, long enough for the silence to become uncomfortable. They did not lock eyes. They didn't even look at each other, as far as Shepard was concerned there was an empty hole in the world where Kaidan Alenko was supposed to be.

"I wouldn't use that word, no," he said finally. "I've seen the evidence, what happened with the relay and what they found in the Collector base. The Alliance, and humanity, needed him and Shepard did what was asked of him. I may not agree with his methods, but I don't question his motives. And he never took up arms against the Alliance."

The rest of the trial was pretty straight forward. As Hackett had predicted, the evidence supporting any image of him as a traitor and genocidal maniac was skimpy at best. Shepard stared at the table, trying and failing not to think about Kaidan. His acquittal was... fine. Kaidan did not attend court after being allowed to step down and Shepard hadn't seen him since.

The closest bar to the base where the court martial had been held was a well-appointed tavern-style establishment with a mercifully empty karaoke stage and enough customers that Shepard could step back and get lost in the noise and movement. He drank efficiently, prying fingers of darkness out of himself one by one. He couldn't afford to get bogged down in all this shit. Pouting about it wasn't going to make it alright.

"Are you Commander Shepard?"

He looked up. The interloper was slumming it in civilian clothes but exuded military out of every pore on his body. He looked curious and carried a couple fresh drink in one hand, and a small cocky smile was curling the corner of his mouth. He was tall, dark and handsome.

Shepard smiled back.

"Sure am," he eyed the drinks. "Is one of those for me?"

"Sure," he slid it over to him and Shepard recognized the dark, smoky colour of good bourbon. "I heard you got acquitted. You know, on the news. Congratulations."

"Thanks," Shepard narrowed his eyes at the other man slightly.

"I was ah, on Elysium. When it happened. My parents and I lived in the West quarter," he sat down on the stool beside him. "I, hah, actually saw you there. I was sixteen at the time, never knew what I wanted to do with my life until I saw you smoking Batarian pirates with your guys."

Shepard understood. The West quarter was where the ships had started turning down and been written off by the Alliance brass. The other man cleared his throat nervously, as though he wasn't exactly sure how Shepard would react to that statement. He seemed like a nice kid though, not a Conrad Verner type, and Shepard just raised the offered glass to him in thanks.

"It was my pleasure," he said, "how many people get to say they love what they do?"

They clinked glasses, and their eyes lingered as they drank. Shepard realized with sudden certainty exactly how easy this was going to be and smiled to himself, letting an icecube slip past his lips so he could crunch it between his teeth with relish.

The heart could want what it wanted, and do battle with the body all it wanted but there were some things that just went too deep to be ignored. It had been eight months of service on the Fringe, four months of fighting as a Spectre, a death spanning two years, and then another three months on top of that. Too long. Sometimes, you've just got to scratch where it itches.

"What's your name?" Shepard asked, leaning forward slightly and draining the rest of his glass.

"Jeremy." His eyes were playful, fully aware of what was about to happen here.

"I'm Trinidad."


	22. Worth Fighting For

They way to break through anger and resentment and love anyone is to realize that they might be lost to you. If it causes you more pain to lose someone than it does to live with them you know that you love them, and knowing you love them you must fight to keep them with you.

- Matriarch Nezirah

* * *

><p>Years ago, shortly after he left Earth for the Calypso Technical Academy, Ramirez had taken him to the observation deck before lunch one day. There they had used a star chart and a telescope to locate Earth in the glittering bowl of the heavens that stretched beyond the amber curve of Jupiter. It had been funny to two kids who had never left their home planet before. Ramirez was Cuban too, if from a slightly less desperate part of the country, and the two of them had dialed in their telescope until they could see the island sitting there in the blue sea, half obscured by light clouds. It had been very beautiful, he remembered that even now.<p>

Ramirez had gotten poetic and teary-eyed, she was a child of the colonies and to her Earth was a symbol. For Shepard it was a reality and a bloody wound still raw in his chest, he remembered thinking that if there had been a way to wipe Cuba off the face of that planet he would have taken it in an instant.

It was a childish thought but he had been young, and it was one of the better thoughts his warped psyche could handle at the moment. He had hated Cuba for years, until the ceremony after Elysium had drawn him back. Outside of the simmering mire of Trinidad there was so much beauty to be had there. And there was the Caribbean Sea, the most beautiful thing in the world, warm and jewel blue and stretching into the dark, quiet ocean.

After Elysium he realized that despite everything that had happened there Cuba was his home. He felt more comfortable speaking Cubano Spanish than English like he did off planet, he loved the food, loved the colour of its people and he loved being that close to the sea all the time. He didn't like flying away from it. It made him angry, to tell the truth.

He tamed that anger with willpower, breathing deeply as he pulled up the specs on the armour reserves onboard and started putting together a suite. There was N7 equipment, and Shepard smiled. Anderson.

The smile died as he remembered where Anderson was at the moment, the sight of him becoming smaller and smaller as the Normandy pulled away from Earth.

"There's ammo," Kaidan informed him quietly, appearing with a data pad in hand, "but no weapons on board outside the anti-boarding garrison."

"We'll make do with what we brought from Earth," Shepard replied, not looking up or turning around. "You know Alenko, I'm sure Lieutenant Vega and I can handle this. You can stay on ship and make sure everything's up and running..."

"What?" Kaidan put the data pad down. "Are you kidding? Who's going to watch your six?"

"I don't trust you," Shepard replied mildly. "I don't trust you to watch my six and I don't trust you to follow my orders." He could feel Alenko looking at him, but he pretended he didn't.

"I don't trust you either," he said finally.

"I know. That's the problem."

He finally looked up. How had they come to this, the two of them? This man had been his best friend once. His best friend and... something else. The first time he had saved the galaxy he snuck out of the docks afterwards with Alenko in civilian clothes, avoiding the clustered reporters, and gotten absolutely shit-faced at one of the few remaining intact bars on the Citadel. Business had been booming and they'd taken their last bottle out into the wards and drunk it on a rooftop, laying drowsily side by side and talking about nothing for hours. Shepard had been entirely too drunk to try anything on him, but it had felt intensely intimate, far more than a whiskey-soaked hook-up would have. He'd floated around on a cloud for a week afterwards, feeling feather light and immortal. Even Anderson had noticed.

And now they were here looking at each other and nothing was the way it was supposed to be. He could feel Kaidan's gaze crawl down his face and notice the half-faded hickey standing out on his neck. The muscles in his jaw tightened a little, and Shepard fought down a blush. He had nothing to be ashamed of, and yet his guts were twisting like cobras and he felt the sudden urge to sink through the floor of the Normandy and disappear. Despite everything that had happened between the two of them Kaidan had no right to get upset over anything, or anyone, Shepard might have been doing in the six months since his trial. That made all sorts of logical sense, but if Kaidan had been the one working his way through the bars around Alliance HQ for the last six months...

Shepard sighed and ran his fingers through his hair, trying and failing to understand how everything had gone so wrong so suddenly. It wasn't within the powers of his substantial intelligence to understand the way the universe worked.

"You stay on my ten," he said finally, "and follow orders. Are we clear, Major Alenko?"

"Crystal."

They looked at each other for another long moment. The air between them was tense; the moment was full of emotions neither of them was willing to give voice to. There wasn't time to delve into everything that was wrong between them right now, and the any chance they would have to do it at all would only come after Shepard proved he was an Alliance soldier not a Cerberus pawn.

Kaidan turned and walked away.

Shepard breathed deeply, trying to summon the Teachings of the Garden. The Sixth and largest part of the Justicar Code its principal purpose was to teach meditation, and Shepard sunk into the quiet he had managed to build within himself. It was not unlike that old black place, the feeling of dry steel making him strong and sure, but it was brighter and found the good inside of him rather than what was cruel and savage.

Even if nothing came of it, Shepard felt it was important for Kaidan to know he wasn't with Cerberus, that his first and deepest loyalty was and always had been to the Alliance. Nothing would be right until he knew that. He focused in on the thought and let it fill him with purpose, with determination and force. It was the only way to handle what was happening to him right now.

"So, Shepard," Vega said quietly, glancing away in the direction Kaidan had gone to make sure he was out of earshot. "Anything I should know?"

"If I thought there was something you needed to know I would tell you," Shepard replied tersely.

"Sure," Vega nodded, "but there's something going on between the two of you and I don't want to get out there and find out it's some wacked out craziness."

Shepard stared at him for a moment, working over the dozen or so available options for continuing the conversation. He hadn't quite decided what he thought about Lieutenant Vega. It felt odd to stand on a ship with a man whose service history he hadn't reviewed; it was a fundamental part of any relationship between Alliance men, like a pedigree for soldiers. Rank, reputation, medals and commendations, all of these things were almost as vital as actual interaction when it came to forming an opinion about a fellow man in uniform. Without it, Shepard didn't know how to dissect this man and understand him. He was in the dark with him as much as he was with Alenko.

"The major and I have history," he allowed. "We served together on the Normandy SR1 before I died. We haven't seen each other since he testified at my trial."

"Right," Vega eyed him warily. "So you really died? I mean, people talk about it all the time but the Alliance hasn't really come out and made that the official story. Grievously wounded is what the court transcripts say."

"My advocate thought it would be better if I watered it down for the trial and the press," Shepard said quietly, "but I won't lie to anyone who asks me about it. I died. The lights went out, the curtain was drawn, the show was over."

"Shit," Vega rubbed his jaw. "That sounds a little loco, Shepard."

"I don't care how it sounds. You can look at the data if you think it'll make sense to you, there should still be copies of the files on the Normandy's computers. EDI will give you access," Shepard turned back to his terminal. "I know what happened to me, Vega."

"Hey, a species of ancient sentient starships just got spat out by the universe and invaded my planet," Vega shrugged, "if you say you died I'll say that's the second most fucked up thing I've heard today. Don't see why you'd lie about it anyway. If you were a Cerberus stooge and you knew this was coming you would have stayed with them instead of sitting on your hands and playing advisor for the last six months."

"Is that your professional opinion?" Shepard asked, raising an eyebrow and glancing over at him. "If you've solved the whole Shepard Dilemma you should see if you can get on some talk shows and spread the word."

"It just makes sense to me," Vega shrugged, "can't expect other people to see it the way I do. But my gut says I can trust you, Shepard, and that's all I've got to go on right now. I'll watch your six, and keep an eye on Alenko."

"Major Alenko will be fine, Lieutenant," Shepard dropped his gaze back down to his terminal and finished fine-tuning his hardsuit and stim suite. His omni-tool lit up as it connected with the programs running through the terminal and started downloading data. "The only thing that could make him behave as anything but a professional would be me, revealing myself to truly be a Cerberus spy. Just watch his back, I don't know how distracted he'll be."

"Gotcha," Vega nodded, "I'll go make sure the shuttle is prepped for takeoff."

"Self motivated, I like you already," Shepard closed the screen on the terminal. His reflection appeared, albeit distorted, in the polished metal casing below it.

His scars had come back, just faintly, across his jaw and cheeks over the last couple months along with a rotten feeling in his gut that nothing could banish. His entire life was focused on the Reapers now. There were no other wars or other causes for him anymore, no other goals, no other dreams or aspirations; almost every thought had was focused on destroying them. He had felt them coming, felt it in his bones as every instinct screamed at him night and day. It caused a lot of stress. That was probably what was causing his scars to come back.

Shepard ran a hand over his face, pressing his fingers closed on the bridge of his nose. It caused a lot of stress. He found the pills the doctor at Alliance HQ had given him for migraines and dry swallowed one as an ominous pain took root in both temples.

* * *

><p>They were twenty minutes away from dock when Shepard finally made his way back to the medbay. There were other things he could be doing, should be doing, but he knew that it was no use trying to resist this place. His hard was thundering in the back of his throat, pounding the back of his skull until thinking became difficult. What was going on inside him wasn't as sophisticated as thinking, he felt raw and uncomfortably emotional as he sat down beside Kaidan's bed and braced his hands against his knees.<p>

Unconscious people were very rarely aware of what was going on around them, Shepard had studied enough first aid and basic medicine to know that. Still, it felt like he should say something.

"I'm sorry, Kaidan," he rasped, finally. It felt like his mouth was full of wet sand, difficult to maneuver around the words. "I was so angry at you. It's funny, or not really funny but... well you know. I had this same conversation with Lawson just a few months ago, it feels like I should have realized this sooner. I was wrong, Kaidan. You were a victim of the Collectors just as much as I was, and the way things are between us... it's their fault, not yours. I should have stayed angry at the Reapers instead of taking it out on you. I'm sorry. I should have been angry at the ones who did this to us."

He rubbed at the hickey on his neck.

"And because I'll never have what it takes to admit this to your face... those other guys were nothing. Like shadows. And every time, when it was done and I felt dirty and tired, I always thought of you. Hah. That sounds weird. What I meant was... I don't know. I thought about you a lot these last six months, and before, when I was going through the Omega-4 Relay to what everyone said was suicide I... I wasn't thinking about getting back to Earth so I could screw a bunch of random guys. I was thinking of you..."

He trailed off as he heard the medbay doors swish open behind him. His cybernetic senses had many benefits. He recognized the sound of Liara's heels on the steel floor and the lingering scent of her perfume as soon as she entered the room. She came up behind him and put a hand on his shoulder.

"He can't die, Liara," he said, not looking up at her. Kaidan's eyes were sunk in the centre of deepening purple bruises, the force of his eyeballs slamming back and forth in his skull had provided him with a pair of impressive shiners. "He can't."

"Kaidan's a soldier, a fighter," Liara assured him, squatting down on her heels beside him and moving her hand from his shoulder to his knee. "He'll pull through."

"There's still so much that's so wrong between us. I can't... I need to make things right," Shepard couldn't look at Liara, it was easier to pretend he was still speaking to the empty air. "I can't take another Ash, I just... I just can't."

Liara put a hand on his cheek and turned his face towards her. They looked at each other for a moment.

"Kaidan is going to fight this war," she said quietly, "and you're going to fight yours. I see what there is between you, Shepard. It's something worth fighting for."

Shepard swallowed and nodded after a moment, letting a deep breath run through him, letting her words settle like a stone in the centre of his chaotic feelings

"You're right. Of course you're right." He shook himself. "Thanks Liara... just thanks."

She squeezed his knee and stood up. "I'll get some ensigns down here to carry him ashore. There should be paramedics waiting for us when we dock."

"Good," Shepard stood up. There really were things he should be doing. He put his hand on Kaidan's shoulder, looking down at his unconscious face. He knew, at an intellectual level, that he hadn't heard anything that had been said here and that was probably a good thing. He knew he couldn't feel his hand on his shoulder. He squeezed anyway, and hoped that Kaidan understood everything that was here, standing beside him, and that it was still worth fighting for.


	23. Best Friends

There is nothing to be prized more highly than true friendship. It is strong enough to withstand true knowledge of a person, to cast aside darkness and ignorance. It is beautiful enough to allow us understanding, and to allow us to be understood. As rare as true love is, true friendship is immeasurably rarer.

- Ascendant Arut, Turian Monk

* * *

><p>"I never understood how humans could maintain such a disgusting habit," Garrus sneered as Shepard brought his lighter to the end of his cigarette and puffed.<p>

"You eat things while they're still alive," Shepard replied, arching an eyebrow in his direction. "There's a reason we've only gone out to lunch once in the entire time we've known each other. Seeing you shovel those things into your razor-studded maw made me want to puke."

"I don't eat kanzloc around you all the time," Garrus grumbled.

"You would if you could," Shepard replied, leaning back on the crate he had commandeered as his usual seat.

"Point," Garrus pretended to work for a moment longer then sighed and leaned back against his terminal. He produced a bottle with the triangular neck that typified Turian brew and pulled the cork, drinking deep. He paused with the cork raised and then offered it to Shepard, his mandibles twitching.

"No protein content, right?" He asked. "You always make me try your shit."

"I don't make you."

"You jammed a pressure point in my back to make me take the shot out of that Asari's cleavage on Omega," he pointed out, "don't think I won't do the same thing."

Shepard took the bottle and sniffed experimentally. Whatever was inside the bottle fizzed like carbonated water and smelled pleasantly sweet. He brought it to his lips and felt his eyes fill with water as the liquor flooded his mouth.

It wasn't unpleasant. The flavours exploded on his tongue, something tart and sweet, not like anything he could name. His nose itched like he had just bitten into a fresh ginger root, and there was a sticky note of something not unlike licorice, yet still very different. It was heady and strong, he could feel it settle warmly in his stomach as he swallowed.

"Jesus," he said as he examined the Turian label with renewed interest, "why haven't we been drinking Turian booze this whole time? We were in the bar on Omega for five and half hours and you never thought to mention that it was delicious?"

"I did mention it. You were pretty far gone by the time I got there though, so you weren't really up for paying attention."

"Fuck," Shepard sighed and exhaled smoke. "I don't know why you put up with all my bullshit Vakarian. I don't know why I feel so comfortable being a shit head to you. I mean, not that I'm not awful to other people, but I actually kind of enjoy bothering you. Actually, I really enjoy it."

"I have the patience of a saint," Garrus smirked. "But... do you remember when you poked that Batarian in all four of his eyes and started a fist fight with his friends because he was hassling Tali at the bar?"

"Yes!" Shepard nodded eagerly. "I remember that part! Zaeed elbowed that guy in the face so hard I thought his teeth were going to come out the other side of his head." He laughed. "Good times. Who knew he had such a soft spot for Tali?"

"And you remember when that asshole Salarian on the Citadel started getting in my face when we were drunk and you spat in his open mouth?"

"Man, I was like a two feet away from him to, that was a five-point shot," Shepard grinned. "Are you making your way around to something or should I be worried about you?"

"My point is you're kind of hilarious when you're being a shit head. You shove it all down and cover it up with brains and professionalism, but when you let loose it's... kind of amazing," Garrus laughed and shrugged. "What can I say? I like you, Shepard. And your pathetic human insults are a source of constant amusement to me."

"The extranet said I should tell you your fringe is discoloured if I really want to get to you."

"Yeah, that is quite the insult in Turian society. Kind of low-brow though."

"So, like, your fringe is so ugly blind women throw up around you? Would that be insulting?"

Garrus stared at him.

"Yes," he said stiffly.

"Or, your fringe is so discoloured it looks like you wash it with a hookers g-string? Something like that?"

"You're hilarious."

"The extranet also said I should call you fat. Garrus you are SO fat that-"

"Don't even start," Garrus cut him off with a wave of his hand, but he couldn't hold his laughter back. "Or are you just flexing your diplomatic muscles for your summit with me? Maybe you're testing some material for Wrex?"

"As if he needs the help," Shepard sighed and stubbed the end of his cigarette out on the edge the crate. "You know what's going to happen here, right?"

"I have some ideas," Garrus sighed, pulling the cork out of the bottle for a second swig. "We all knew it was going to come to this eventually. There was never any doubt that we would need the Krogan in order to fight the Reapers, and there was never any doubt that they were going to have exorbitant and unreasonable demands. This is the moment they've been waiting for since the Genophage. The galaxy needs them again, and they're going to savour the chance to call the shots."

"And they're being led by Wrex," Shepard pointed out, pointing at him with two fingers, "who's smart and knows how life works outside the DMZ, not some moronic, chest-beating tribesman like Ubek. This is dangerous territory I'm treading here, Garrus."

"Are you telling me a bunch of politicians have got you hiding in here, shaking in your shiny little boots?" Garrus asked, mockery lacing every syllable. "You've got to be kidding me, Shepard."

"In case you hadn't noticed my unique brand of charm isn't especially diplomatic," Shepard drawled in response. "I'm not equipped to navigate this storm, Garrus. Who am I to comment on the Genophage, or to tell anyone it should or shouldn't be cured?"

"You really think that's what he's going to ask for?" Garrus asked.

"There isn't a doubt in my mind. I'd bet every credit I have against it, and I'm not a betting man. You can't be, when you understand the statistics of it."

"Yeah, it seems like the obvious course of events, doesn't it? A cure for the Krogan in exchange for Palaven," he fixed Shepard with a hard stare. "I have to say, Shepard, I'm going to come out in support of you giving the Krogan everything they want."

"If I could wave my magic wand and make it so I'd wear the little green dress and call myself Tinkerbell."

"That made literally no sense to me. Not a single word of it."

"I don't get to make these decisions, all I get to do is try to convince the people who do that they should shut up and do what I tell them to. I'm out of my element here."

"The image of you in a dress is burning itself into my mind right now."

"Forget about the dress. I'm trying to bare my soul to you right now, Vakarian."

"Right, sorry, I'm finished being damaged for life at the moment."

"Wait until the image pops back up in the middle of sex sometime."

"Spirits take you, Shepard," Garrus scowled. "You're going to be fine. Getting people to shut up and do what you tell them is what you do for a living, remember? Believe me, you're very good at it. You tell me to follow you to the moon without a spacesuit and I ask when we're leaving."

"But-"

"This isn't Udina we're talking about. The Primearch is a soldier, and Wrex is a warrior. You know how to handle these kinds of people, Shepard. You got an entire ship full of people to throw in on a suicide mission, and brought them all back. You're going to do fine." He gave Shepard and exaggerated smile, spreading his mandibles wide and waving his hands excitedly. "Now cheer the hell up. You're even uglier than usual when you pout."

"You know what, you're right," Shepard sat up, nodding to himself. "I'm fucking awesome, right? I can do this."

"Right!" Garrus cheered him on and pulled him to his feet. "Now go away. I have work to do and your angst is distracting me."

"Tinkerbell," Shepard said slowly and deliberately.

"Damn it," Garrus twitched. "I'm never going to recover from that."

Shepard laughed evilly.

"Get out, damn you." Garrus opened the door for you. "I have to wash my brain out with bleach."

"Oh! Hey, Garrus, you're fringe is SO ugly that-"

Garrus shoved him through the doorway and closed it behind him. Shepard grinned, feeling much better than he had when he woke up this morning. He whistled as he strolled through the mess hall, waving at Engineer Adams who was chatting animatedly with Gabriella. She was bright eyed and intent, and Shepard smirked at her over Adam's head as he passed by. She pretended not to see him.

He made a mental note to berate her later and moved on.

It was hard to imagine how unhappy he'd been when he first walked this ship. Memories of sorrow clung to it in places, his emotions had been dormant but powerful and sometimes small things had been overwhelming for him. Then, after he had come back more completely it had been a place full of kind of desperate energy, always on the edge of breaking through to delirium. Now it was full of intention, full of purpose, full of people working toward one clear goal. The Crucible, the Reapers, and of course, always, always the most important thing of all.

* * *

><p>I've actually had most of this chapter finished since I first started writing this story, which is why you get another update so fast!<p>

I'll probably do most of the character interaction chapters from ME3 short like this, while longer chapters will focus on the Shepard/Kaidan romance. I considered not doing any at all, but that's just because I'm so excited to write the actual romance. I can't just neglect all these great characters I love writing so much. So expect to see lots of everything you've seen thus far, plus lots of adorkable trying-to-be-romantic Shepard.

Earth.


	24. Ever Changing

The wind that bears my love away may diminish our mediocre flames as it snuffs out candles. But it will only increase our great passions, as it fans a forest fire into a towering blaze.

- Larana Nirine, Last Poet of Rakhana

* * *

><p>Kaidan didn't believe in survivor's guilt.<p>

His was the kind of mind that appreciated logic over blind sentiment. It was arrogant to hold yourself accountable for certain things, as though all it would take to make the universe right was your direct intervention. Anyone should appreciate the limits of their own abilities, but it was particularly important for soldiers. Soldiers couldn't get bogged down in shit like that. If they did, they got people killed.

But sometimes... sometimes even he couldn't help it. After Ash for example. Ash... well... Ash had been a unique situation. She was funny and brave, and he'd liked her far more than what was required between professional soldiers, or even friends. The three of them together, Ash, Shepard and him, had been a dream on and off the battlefield. He'd never had friends like that before. Despite the violence and terror that had permeated their time together he had been happy, confident, focused like never before.

Until Virmire that is. Until he hadn't been good enough to get that Salarian team out of the AA tower for their rendezvous. Then Shepard had been forced to make the call, and Ash had died because of it. It had felt like it was his fault.

He understood, objectively, that there was nothing he could have done differently but it didn't make it easier to accept. What had made it easier was Shepard. Just his presence, his support and confidence, had convinced him it wasn't responsible for what had happened. And Kaidan couldn't be sure, but he thought that maybe he had done the same thing for him.

There hadn't been anyone there to do it for him after Shepard died. He had been standing right there, looking at him, and he had left. Yes, he had been ordered. Yes, it was his job to follow orders. But Shepard wasn't just his commander, he was his friend. His best friend, and the greatest man he'd ever known. He should never have left him there. Maybe... if he'd been there...

Maybe they both would have died. There was a time he thought that would have been better if he had died with Shepard. Losing both of them, Ash and Shepard, had been inhuman, crushing. He used work to hide it, to jam it all down inside himself and forget. It had been so much easier to let himself be numb that it had been to try and deal with it directly.

It had served him well, this tactic. Until Shepard came back.

It was funny the way the mind worked. He had been walking around like a dead man for two years, but he was angry when Shepard showed up. Anger had brought him back to life, and then poisoned everything that was left of him. Not at first, at first he'd been all ready to listen, to try to understand why Shepard would disappear for two years without so much as a hint that he was still alive. But seeing him on Horizon like that... there was no way to react to that without anger. There was no way to think about it without a red haze invading his mind, making him crazy.

Shepard had disappeared and come back dark and brutal, nothing like the man he knew. It wasn't fair. It wasn't fair to bring him back and put him right in front of him like that, only to jerk away all the hope that had been secretly growing inside of him when he heard all the rumours about him being alive. Anger and despair were sickly partners, and they made him feel like he was rotting from the inside out.

He had been furious, and sick, and sad, and tragic.

And then Mars had happened.

It was really funny the way the mind worked. If anyone in the world recognized his face it was because of Saren and the Reapers, this huge event that had shaken the galaxy and changed his life forever. It would seem that when his life flashed before his eyes at the moment of death he should remember that moment, and what had led up to it, that it should be vital to the rapid-fire visions unfolding before his eyes. Instead what seemed important was the childhood smell of summer sunshine in his mother's hair, or the feel of his father's hard, callused hand holding his small one as they crossed the street, or the sound of the ocean moving against the beach, or the smell of the kitchen at Christmas. Saren and the Geth were footnotes compared to these things.

And to the sound of Shepard laughing.

It was bizarre to think that it had been so long since he'd heard that laugh, really heard it, outside of his memories. Not the laughter that had rung up and down the beach after Shepard had pushed him off the dock in Cuba, that had been hard and angry, a sound that had never been intended to express joy. He had a lot of memories of Shepard laughing, in between flashes of neon strobe in Chora's den or as he drank straight from the bottle under the violet light of the Wards. The way he snorted through his nose when he got a little too drunk and found something a little too funny. The wild clarity of his outbursts in the middle of battle, the softness of his companionable chuckle, there was a reason he'd loved serving with the man. No one he'd ever known laughed as frequently or expansively as Shepard.

All these things were so much more important than medals and commendations, than ranks and posts, the things he'd thought were the most vital part of his life. That was all just framework, what mattered were his parents, his friends, and Shepard.

He had a lot of memories of those things, and it wasn't nearly enough. It was a sad realization for a thirty four year old to make, Kaidan decided as CAT scan beams combed his face. He should have figured all this out a long time ago. He'd wasted so much time.

With Shepard, more than anyone, he had wasted so much time.

"Major Alenko," the pretty Asari nurse they'd assigned him called out as the orderlies wheeled him back toward his room after the scans, "your handsome friend stopped by again. I told him he could wait in your room for you."

Kaidan's stomach tightened up like a vice. He still wasn't sure how to talk to Shepard. The other man had assured him they were good, had seemed almost relieved at the time, but it was hard to imagine he wasn't angry. If it had been him in Shepard's shoes, he didn't know how he'd ever be able to stop being angry.

He expected Shepard to be standing at the window or something, a portrait, dramatic against the blushing beauty of the Presidium, strong and assertive like he always was. Instead, they found him sitting in the chair beside his bed, head pillowed in his folded arms resting against the bed. He was dead asleep, the orderly had to shake him hard to rouse him and he sat up, rumpled and drowsy with his hair sticking out in all directions. He wiped drool from the corner of his lips with the back of his hand and blinked owlishly in the sudden onslaught of consciousness.

Nurse Abiderah was right. He was very handsome, now more than ever really, when he looked like a real person instead of a legend. It also helped that he looked much more than two years older. Despite the fact that his lean face was just as unmarked by time, unwrinkled and smooth, there was something around his eyes and in the lean lines of his face that made him look older. He looked older and somehow bigger, greater, like there was something in him that just hadn't been there before. And he was very handsome.

"Another scan to confirm nothing got rattled too hard," Kaidan explained, shrugging off the helping hands of the orderlies and heaving himself into the narrow hospital bed. He was pretty sure he was imagining the way Shepard's eyes flickered toward his bare chest.

"You can't blame them," Shepard yawned and rubbed at his eyes with the back of his hand, "they don't know you well enough to know this is how you always are."

"Clever," Kaidan drawled as he pulled the sheets up to his chest and sent the orderlies away. "Everything seems to be healing clean, in case you were interested."

He'd meant it as a joke, but things were still too raw between them. Shepard clearly didn't know how to react to it.

"Sorry," he said. He looked bashfully down at his boots and Kaidan wanted to kick himself. "You know me, the only way I can deal with stuff like this is by cracking stupid jokes. It's-"

"It's fine," Kaidan assured him, "I'm just not as funny as you are, Shepard. I meant it as a joke."

"Yeah, of course," he rubbed at his lean-featured face with one hand, running his fingers across the faint scars still clinging to the edge of his jaw. "Stress, you know. It messes with me. Why else would I pass out on your bed like that?"

"I don't mind," Kaidan shrugged, "you've got to catch your winks somewhere, right? Might as well be here."

Shepard made a noise in his chest that was not quite a laugh and leaned back in his seat.

"Yeah," he drawled with a half-smile, "we can't all be as lucky as you, couple hits from a chick and you get to lounge around in luxury."

Kaidan laughed, and winced at it pulled at something tender in his chest.

"Yeah, I'm really living the dream," he rolled his eyes. "Stuck in the hospital while the rest of the galaxy fights a war I've been thinking about for three years."

Shepard sighed, his face twisting into a mask of disgust. Kaidan could read the tension springing up through his shoulders and back in an instant, the way he hunched forward and laced his fingers together was familiar. Shepard was too smart for his own good sometimes, when it came to a problem he just couldn't fix he didn't have the same tolerance for frustration that normal people did. Any problem he couldn't fix was a personal insult that he just couldn't abide.

"I wish the rest of the galaxy was fighting a war. Instead they're just dragging their feet and squabbling over table scraps," he rolled his eyes. "I felt like taking the Salarian Dalatrass over my knee and spanking her until she played nice with the other kids. Or, you know, spitting in her mouth."

Kaidan grinned. "Because that worked out for you so well the first time you tried to resolve a conflict that way. You had two black eyes for almost a week. Not that it's not a good look..." He gestured to his own battered face.

"Hey, Garrus and I won the fight, that's what's important," Shepard pointed out. "In fact, if everyone would just hit each other a bunch and then do whatever the tough guy says it would be a lot easier."

"You really think so?" Kaidan asked dubiously.

"Well yeah, because I would be the toughest guy," Shepard replied with a grin.

"Right," Kaidan nodded, "of course."

"Hey, if any reporters happen to ask you about my chances, try to sound a little more enthusiastic okay?" Shepard asked, arching one sleek black eyebrow.

It was a joke, Kaidan was sure of it, and he overcame the writhing, awkward sensation in the pit of his stomach and forced himself to laugh about it. Shepard grinned, and he felt a wave of relief sweep over him. This was the way things were supposed to be between them, and he'd missed it sorely over the last two and a half years.

"Look, Kaidan..." Shepard rubbed at his eyes and swapped his grin out for a more serious face, his eyes focusing on him with obvious difficulty. "About what I said in Cuba, and on the Normandy before Mars-"

"You don't have to say anything," Kaidan assured him quickly.

"No, I do," Shepard sighed, "I really do. I was a total shit-head to you."

Kaidan blinked. He wasn't really sure what he had been expecting Shepard to say, but it wasn't that.

"I don't know what I expected from you. I mean, it's a crazy fucking story. I had enough trouble dealing with it, and I'm the one that..." He hesitated. "Lived it." He finished.

Silence hung between them for a moment as both of them considered what they wanted to say next. Despite his many epiphanies over the last week of his recovery, Kaidan still had difficulty wrapping his mind around what Shepard claimed had happened to him. People didn't come back from the dead in the real world, that was something for legends and the Easter sermon at church. And rogue terrorist cells didn't pump billions of credits into men like Shepard. Men who had convictions, morals, limits to what they would do to accomplish their goals. It was... it was just so hard to believe.

"You really died?" Kaidan asked finally, to break the silence as much as anything else. "I mean..."

"I know what you mean," Shepard sighed. "And I tried... I tried to tell myself I was imagining things, or that Cerberus was lying to me and it was insane to think that I would believe them. But I remember it. I remember dying." He looked away. "I remember being dead. And if I start second guessing my memories and worrying about brainwashing and implanted thoughts and all that spooky shit... I'm never going to stop. I've had scans done, taken all the tests, I understand the tech they put in me, and besides," he shrugged as though casting off a weight, "I told the Illusive Man to fuck himself and blew up his precious Collector Base. I'm pretty sure that if he had intended me to play puppet I wouldn't have been able to do that."

He paused and looked up, rubbing the back of his neck sheepishly.

"Sorry. It sounds like I'm trying to convince you, and I didn't come here to do that."

"It sounds a little more like you're trying to convince yourself," Kaidan observed.

"Maybe a bit," Shepard shook his head, looking at his knees as though there were something very interesting down there. "Maybe I'll never be sure that I'm really me, and that's why it pisses me off so much that you aren't sure either."

Kaidan felt his stomach twist again, harder than ever.

"You're still angry?" He asked quietly.

"Yeah," Shepard admitted. "But not like I was before. The Reapers stole my life, Kaidan. You're not the only one who doesn't believe me, some of my oldest friends think I'm blowing smoke out of my ass just as much as you do, or did, or..." He sighed. "I don't know. One moment I was a man with my whole life and career ahead of me, friends that felt close as family, a reasonably well-adjusted temperament... and now I'm this."

He motioned up and down the length of him, his lips curling back over his teeth in an unpleasant grimace.

"And I don't know what this is. A cyborg figurehead for a war almost no one really thinks we can win. The Reapers did this to me. So yeah... I'm still angry. But not at you," he smiled faintly, hopefully, as he looked up again.

"I don't think you're blowing smoke," Kaidan said softly. "I meant what I said. I was wrong, Shepard. And... I think that if anyone can win this war for us, it's you."

Shepard looked at him in silence for a moment. It was a look that Kaidan knew well, sharp and appraising. His fingers were laced together, the knuckles showing white against the sheets where his hands rested lightly. Kaidan might never have noticed, and then never noticed the tight muscles standing out in his jaw, the way he held himself uncomfortably straight in the seat, and never known exactly how tense he was at that moment. There was a time when Shepard had been like an open book to him, his moods written boldly across his face and body language.

He wanted that again. That closeness, camaraderie and... that spark. That unique feeling that hung between the two of them and that he'd never in his life had the guts to actually act on.

"Thanks, Kaidan," Shepard had apparently decided he was being genuine, and he smiled now, "that... really means a lot. Coming from you."

There it was, just a flash of it, slipping through the guards that time and distance and suspicion had put between them. Kaidan felt something inside him stir like it only ever had with Shepard. He'd felt things for people before, unrequited things that turned his head around and made him feel crazy, but never this. Never anything this exhilarating, or terrifying. It was just a moment, but it was enough to confirm that it was still there, and that more than anything else gave him hope. If that feeling could survive everything that had happened between them, then there was still hope for the galaxy pulling itself together.

"No problem," Kaidan said, and put his hand lightly over Shepard's balled fists, "I had to pull my head out of my ass eventually, right?"

Shepard had tensed at his touch, but he laughed now. Really laughed, his eyes closing and his head tipping back as bursts of mirth escaped his lips. Kaidan couldn't help it, he grinned like an idiot at the sound. He really had missed it. More than anything over the last two years, he had missed that laugh. After a moment he joined in. Everything wasn't fixed between them, it would take time and effort not one conversation to do that. But it was a start, and that was enough to make him ignore his aching chest for a moment and enjoy himself.


	25. Separate Destinies

How sad the world is when we move through it on our way away from something that once gave us joy.

- Perine, Asari Justicar

* * *

><p>"So Wrex," Shepard sidled casually around the corner with exaggerated normality. "How's it going?"<p>

He didn't know how to talk to Wrex anymore. Their relationship was complicated on a number of different levels and twisted even further by Shepard's personal frustration for the situation they had found themselves in. He was not the sort of man who approved in trading help for favours, the thought of living like that had too much of the taste of Trinidad about it. He was better than that. People should be better than that. But they weren't and he had to live with that.

He tried to be compassionate and not to resent Wrex, and he succeeded to an extent. But his empathy for the Krogan could only stretch so far when images of the slaughter going on all over Palaven invaded the news, and while he knew Earth was burning while one of his oldest friends was embroiled in a horrific and dangerous war on its surface.

"Shepard, I've been waiting for you to make an appearance," for his part, Wrex sounded glad to see him. "Let's step outside, this terminal is giving me a headache."

They wandered into the barren little room outside the war room and Wrex leaned against the table and studied him for a minute. Shepard folded his hands behind his back and examined the steel walls with leisure.

"Have you heard the one about the two Asari?" He asked, turning his gaze back to Wrex after a moment.

Wrex shook his head, a broad smile spreading across his scarred face.

"Right. So these two nice Asari Maidens go out one hot summer day for a walk. Not five minutes into it they're sweating and panting and swatting away flies, when one of them spots an old Matriarch vendor selling iced fruit by the side of the road. They stop to buy some and decide to sit with the Matriarch for a while, because they were good girls who had been raised to respect their elders."

Wrex nodded his understanding. "I like that," he said, "young people these days don't have enough respect for their elders."

There was a barb in the words that Shepard could not help but be aware of. For the sake of his punch line he didn't react to it.

"So the two Maidens sit down in the grass with their fruit and the Matriarch toddles over with her own helping. 'Excuse me dears,' she says, 'the old bones aren't what they used to be' and sits down with her legs spread wide. The Maidens notice she isn't wearing any underwear and since they're Asari that doesn't seem too strange."

"I wouldn't tell this joke to T'Soni."

"I heard it from T'Soni. Anyway, one of the girls asks her if it's cooler without underwear and the Matriarch shrugs and takes a bite of her fruit. 'I don't know about any of that' she says 'but it sure does keep the flies away.'"

Wrex laughed at the same time as his lip curled up into a visible grimace. He shook his head sadly.

"I never knew you had that in you, Shepard," he chuckled.

"I'm full of surprises," Shepard grinned.

"I'll say. I thought you'd be on my side about the Krogan," Wrex's voice sounded light and casual, but his words cut through the warmth of their joking like a razor of ice.

"I am on your side, Wrex," Shepard replied, a slight frown touching his face. He felt the first hint of that wrinkle forming, the deep one that ran down the centre of his forehead and only appeared when he was truly frustrated. "I've supported you every step of the way on this."

"But it pisses you off," Wrex pointed out, "don't try to tell me it doesn't. I can read your soft little human face like a book."

"Well it would piss you off too, Wrex," Shepard snapped. "For every day you hold out on this, tens of thousands of people die on Earth and on Palaven."

"Every day for a thousand years dozens of infant Krogan have died," Wrex replied, his hands curling into fists against the edge of the table. "When you humans have a death toll to equal that maybe you can convince me to feel bad for you."

"How can you say that?" Shepard asked, appalled. "If you would just send your troops now while we're doing this instead of waiting for it to be done-"

"No," Wrex said grimly. His voice held absolute conviction.

"When have I ever given you a reason not to trust me?" Shepard asked, unable to keep the frustration out of his voice. "That data Mordin's using to develop this cure only exists because I talked him into keeping it. You said we were friends Wrex, but you've been treating me like any other asshole since you set foot on this ship."

They glared at each other in silence for a moment.

"It's not like that, Shepard," he growled after a moment. "I have to look out for my people's best interest."

"You know I want to help the Krogan," Shepard insisted. "You know I'm not going to stab you in the back. If you would just trust me-"

"Shepard, you are my friend, and you're a warrior and a leader of men. I respect you. But you're also an alien, and no good has ever come from the Krogan trusting an alien," he hung his head. "That's the bald truth. I would trust you with my life in an instant as a commander, but I can't trust anyone with the life of my people. I want you to understand that, but even if you don't that's still the way it's got to be."

"Do you watch the vids?" Shepard asked. His head was beginning to throb and he rubbed at his chin where there used to be that old scar. He could feel the ghost of it under his fingers, like an itch he just couldn't scratch. "Do you?"

"Yes," Wrex dropped his eyes for the first time.

"So do I. That's my home, Wrex. You can't expect me to accept this without having a problem with it."

"My home looks an awful lot like Earth does right now, Shepard," Wrex spoke quietly, "and it has my entire life."

Shepard looked at him for a moment, every muscles drawn up in anger, his back as strong and straight as a steel rod. A large part of him wanted to be primal and stupid, to just hit him and keep hitting him until he managed to find a way to pound the universe into a more pleasing shape. But he was too smart to surrender to that want, and his mind was already realizing that it was ignorant of him to expect Wrex to feel any differently than he did.

He didn't understand. Of course he didn't understand. No one who wasn't Krogan could.

"I... I get it," he said finally, folding both hands over his face and leaning back against the opposite wall. "Jesus. I just... I want to save everyone."

He crossed his arms over his chest.

"Shepard-"

"I know!" He snapped. "I'm not a child, I know I can't do it. But all this political bullshit and ancient history, none of that matters to me. And I don't give a shit about reparations or justice either. All I want to do is save people, and all I see is more people standing in my way."

Wrex sighed, pushing away from his table and moving so he was standing in front of him.

"It's so easy to forget how young you are," he said sadly. "All humans are young, and your minds don't understand death the way the Krogan's do. We've been looking at death for so long, Shepard, I can't send my people off to fight this war until they've seen life to. I don't hold it against you."

"Thanks," Shepard said bitterly. "I'm not going to lie, I hold it against you, a little."

"I accept that," Wrex said, nodding. "I should get back to work."

"Yeah," Shepard nodded, pushing himself to his feet. He resisted the urge to shove his hands in his pockets like a sullen child and instead faced Wrex with his chin held high.

"This doesn't change anything," he promised, "I'm still going to get this done for you. I believe in this Wrex, in this cause. I want you to know that."

Wrex sighed, and nodded.

"I do know that," he said. "It's just not enough."

Shepard nodded, and Wrex tipped his head once in farewell. The two of them turned and left through different doors.

* * *

><p>I went through a lot of drafts on this little chapter. This won't be the last time we see Wrex, so without giving anything away I can assure you that this isn't the last time they'll talk about Wrex holding out on throwing in with Shepard.<p> 


	26. Somewhere to Cry

Any man can find it in him to feel deep, painful, powerful sorrow should be respected. A man who is capable of great sorrow is also capable of fantastic good.

- Byetta Soverain, Drell Priestess

* * *

><p>There was a reason he didn't tell many people about who he used to be. There was a host of reasons, in truth, and shame actually ranked fairly low on the list. Nothing good ever came of shame, and Shepard had always been too pragmatic to let useless emotions hold much sway over him.<p>

The main reason he didn't tell many people was that he was sure most of them would never understand it. People who have never had that hunger gnawing in their veins and the back of their mind would never understand what it meant to love the needle, even after it had started to kill. Most of them couldn't conceive of a reality so brutal and foul that the fevered dreams of a dying junkie were fairer places to spend one's time.

Those places could not be described by a mortal tongue. It was like trying to explain a nightmare to someone and expecting them to feel the same boneless, visceral terror you felt while you were immersed within it. Once, when he had been younger and more ignorant, he had tried to explain it to some of his friends and they had all asked the same question.

Why didn't you just leave?

As though he'd somehow known there was a reality outside of Trinidad. He hadn't even known men went into space and lived there until he was twelve years old. As far as he had been concerned the whole world was Trinidad, a howling miasma of violence that inflicted itself upon him every waking moment. He had been too busy surviving to plan an escape, even if he had known one was possible.

He didn't blame them for not understanding. After all, he couldn't understand family or formal etiquette or polite society in general really, because he had never been exposed to enough of it for it to make a meaningful impression. Most people who had lived a life where they ate everyday and didn't need to be overly concerned with getting shanked while they slept couldn't even conceive of a world where such things were possible, let alone and entire city built around human suffering. And at its heart that was what Trinidad was, really, a beast that fed on the wounded and the weak and spat them back out as its foul, cankerous children.

At least one good thing had come of it, though. So maybe it was a shame that it was burning.

The whole of Cuba was burning, aerial photos flashed across the screen showing an island bathed in raging fires with nothing but charred black soil stretching on for miles behind them. The purge had begun in the heart of Trinidad and crawled out toward the rest of the country like a plague. The Reapers were ruthlessly methodical. Everything down to every edge of coastline had simply been wiped off the face of the planet.

Not just the dark brutal places, but everything that was remarkable and beautiful about the place as well. The night markets of Havana, the market towns along the coast, the miles of white beach scrawled like a satin ribbon alongside the crystalline blue waters of the sea, all of it was gone. As a hot south wind blew over the burnt remains of the north island it blew clouds of black ash out across the water until the beautiful shallow coral seas were stained black and heavy with the ashes of the dead, the ashes of twenty-three and a half million people who had been obliterated without mercy.

All that blood and smoke, and for what? The news outlets of the galaxy were all asking the same question, feverish with panic. Was this just an omen of what was to come, were the Reapers going to stop trying to harvest their civilizations and just obliterate them now? Why Earth and not Palaven? Why Cuba and not Geneva or New York or Hong Kong?

Shepard knew why. He knew the answers to all these questions. He knew why the Reapers had come down on the jewel of the Caribbean to with such biblical wrath. It was all about him. It was all to send a message to him.

It was egotistical perhaps, but unmistakable. Nowhere else on Earth or in the galaxy had been targeted that way. Cuba had been wiped off the Earth by the Reapers to show him that nothing he loved or cared about was safe, as a display of raw, opulent power and ego. It was a casual genocide so negligent it had taken barely a day for a handful of Reapers to carry it out.

It was nothing to them. Then again, pretty much everything was. To them twenty three and a half million lives was data, neat and sterile, a taunt more than an act of war. The Reapers claimed to be beyond human understanding, but Shepard had called bullshit on that a long time ago. They were like bullies were all over the galaxy, just bigger and more important.

Shepard hated bullies. That was something he'd learned about himself in Trinidad.

He watched his home burn from the couch in his cabin. He was supposed to be on duty but he couldn't make his rounds, not while it was still going on. He had to look, had to see it happening and soak it in and engrave it on his memory. He had to take the weight of it on, not flinching, and not bending an inch no matter how heavy it might be or else the Reapers would have won.

If he let this break him the Reapers had won. So he gritted his teeth and watched the vids. He didn't shy away from the rage they invoked, the pulsing scarlet fever they spread across his mind. This anger was good, it was iron and blood and fire, he could feel it pulsing through him, rushing in his veins until it was as much a part of him as anything else.

He had wanted to wipe Cuba off the face of the Earth once, but not even his darkest imaginings had contained carnage like this.

Twenty three and a half million people. He had thought that three hundred thousand was a heavy number to contemplate, but this was something else entirely. It was staggering, even to him. Twenty three and a half million. A number so huge the human mind could not even process it properly.

"Shepard," Liara sounded breathless as she burst into his quarters. Her hands were cupped over her mouth, her eyes wide with horror. "I didn't think... I've been hearing about this all day and wondering why they would do that on just one island of just one planet and I realized-"

"You realized that the Reapers wanted to teach me a lesson," Shepard laughed, and it was a sound without any mirth in it at all. "Wait until the rest of the galaxy realizes it."

"They might not," Liara sounded hopeful at least. "The Alliance has always made it a policy to pretend you sprang into existence the moment you put that uniform on. It's not common knowledge that you're from Cuba."

"I was from Cuba," Shepard shook his head. "In the past tense. I can't be from somewhere that doesn't exist anymore."

Liara sank down on the couch next to him, but he waved her touch away and stood up in response. As much as he appreciated her efforts to treat him like a human being and her interest in his actual feelings, he didn't want to be coddled right now. Anger had put too much fire in him, burning through him, and it needed to be carefully controlled. If he lost control this would burn him out, it would use up everything he had left and leave him as a husk of his former self.

"Maybe they can rebuild..." She said hesitantly.

"I'm sure someone will, and it might even be Cubans that do it, but let's not kid ourselves, T'Soni. Cuba is gone. Anything that comes out of the soil will be at worst a poor imitation and at best an homage to what once was," he sighed, rubbing at the muscles standing out under the skin of his neck. They were hard and knotted as old wood under his fingers, and he could feel that tension pulling the rest of his body out of balance. His spine felt crooked, his legs ached and no matter what he did nothing was helping him keep control of this smouldering red anger.

"This isn't your fault," she said firmly.

"Christ, I know that. I'm not some stupid teenager who thinks he controls the world-" Shepard cut himself off and closed his eyes. "God, I'm sorry Liara. Can you come back in an hour? I need to exert some control over myself."

"No," Liara frowned, "this is good Shepard. This is the way you should feel."

"I doesn't matter how I should feel," Shepard replied. "I can't let this break me."

He sighed in the silence that followed and teetered back over to the couch, collapsing onto it and trying to release some of the tension from his aching muscles. His tendons groaned like old ropes as he stretched his legs out in front of him.

"There's one thing I know, that could help," Liara said finally. "It's usually something only Asari do..."

"I'll take all the help I can get," Shepard said wearily. It was becoming increasingly obvious that he couldn't do this on his own, and he didn't see any point in fighting that realization.

"Sit up and face me," Liara instructed him, folding one leg across the couch so she could face him head on. He copied her so they were sitting face to face and raised his hands with her as she brought both of them up, palms facing out. She pressed their palms together and dropped her fingers between his so their hands were interlaced.

"Open your mind," she said softly. Her voice had the soothing, meditative quality all Asari seemed able to generate to one degree or another. Shepard thought of Samara, who surrounded herself with that feeling every moment of the day, and had a momentary pang of nostalgia.

Shepard closed his eyes, letting himself slip into that thoughtless calm that accompanied meditation. His breath grew strong and steady, his heart rate dropped and when he opened his eyes again the whirlwind of emotion had settled. He felt centred and calm again.

Liara opened her eyes and they were black, full of solemn power.

"Embrace eternity," she said, her voice echoing through his mind, rippling through his chest and into his heart until it reached his soul. She reached into his mind with her arms open wide. Tell me, she whispered into his mind, let me share the load.

There are certain things that words, no matter how grand and poetic they may be, will never be able to make people understand. Memories though, intense and visceral memories full of smells and screams, those can make someone understand. They could allow Liara to live a moment just as vividly as he had all those years ago.

He hadn't been prepared for that. It was too much too suddenly and he let go of everything at once, dumping a lifetime of pain and grief at her feet like a bag of dirty laundry. He felt empty as she sorted through it, like the secret of it had been an actual pressure in his body making everything tight and painful.

Then they were sitting on the couch again, just two people holding hands, and Liara's eyes were blue again.

"Oh," she gasped, tears flooding her eyes and running down her cheeks. "Shepard."

He wouldn't have been surprised if she turned away, but she leaned forward and embraced him like a brother instead. She understood. She had not only seen what it was like, she had felt it. She knew what he was.

For the first and only time in his life Shepard put his head down, cradling it against her neck, closed his eyes, and wept.

Sometime later, when the bitter tears had dried on their faces, Shepard leaned back and felt for the tension that had been riding his body day and night for the last six months. His muscles felt almost gelatinous after that massive expenditure of emotion. He felt mercurial, like he could do anything. He was also completely exhausted.

"Shepard," Liara took one of his hands in both of hers, "I never knew."

"No one does. I mean, Alenko sort of does. He knew more than anyone else did, until now. But he doesn't really know," he emphasized the last word, catching her eyes as he did. "I've never... that was... Thank you. I can't even... just..."

He shrugged helplessly.

"Thank you," he said again, with force, squeezing her hand in his.

She smiled at him, beautiful and guileless. As sweet as the day he'd met her, even after all this time.

There was something truly transcendent about baring his soul to someone like that and receiving nothing but love in return. His entire life had been built on the rotten foundation of Trinidad and what had been done to him there. No matter what he called himself or what other people might know him as, if he went deep enough he knew X would always be there. Perhaps it was impossible to truly escape the notion that he might only ever be X, that everything he did now was just an artifice built to hide his true self from the world.

But Liara knew that wasn't true. She had looked into the deepest part of him, and found something worth caring about.

Shepard leaned back against the couch and draped an arm around her, pulling her close against his side. Her head nestled against his shoulder and she sighed wordlessly. He rested his cheek lightly against the top of her head and closed his eyes. Her hand rested lightly on his stomach and he covered it with his own. After a moment they were both asleep, drifting weightlessly through clear dreams, free for a moment from all that darkness.

* * *

><p>I have to say, I really didn't like Liara in the first game but she grew on me quite a bit in LotSB and ME3. Almost as much as Garrus, she seems to be one of the only people who Shepard seriously discusses his feelings about the war with. And since I neglected her so dreadfully in the first two parts of the story I thought I should do something special with the two of them. If only Shepard liked the ladies Liara...<p> 


	27. Between

Not all men find peace within themselves. Sometimes we must venture beyond our inner kingdoms and touch other lives, kindling flames between ourselves and the universe to warm our souls and see us safely into eternity.

- K'rell Skytoma, Drell Mystic

* * *

><p>Not all his dreams were dark and twisted things. While Shepard found his dreaming feet often followed unhappy trails there were also nights where he forced himself to lay down on his stomach in the big, comfortable bed, ignoring the void yawning behind the skylight, and floated through pleasant spaces and went about unspectacular chores. He found most of his more pleasant dreams to be disturbingly mundane.<p>

He was dreaming about the orange grove outside the boot camp in Spring Hill when the call woke him, its alarm shattering the stillness of his cabin. Or maybe he'd been dreaming about taking a bath. Now that he thought about it, he might have been dreaming about both at the same time. He rolled over and retrieved his omni-tool from his bedside table, wondering who would be calling him over his personal channel like this instead of through the ships communication signal.

"Kaidan," he said groggily as he clicked the 'accept call' option, "you always catch me when I'm at my finest."

"If I didn't know you better I'd wonder how much time you're actually spending saving the galaxy," Kaidan's laugh was shattered by a buzz of static, but the signal stabilized after a moment. Shepard propped himself up in bed and slipped the data jack of his omni-tool into the mobile platform he had been reading from before he fell asleep. The image was clearer than the semi-translucent orange sheen of a holographic display.

"Look at you," he grinned, settling back against the head board and running his fingers through his hair, in an attempt to tease it into a more pleasing shape, "you're almost good-looking again."

"I could say the same to you, except you were never good-looking to begin with," Kaidan replied. His bruises were nothing more than yellowish shadows around his eyes and he had apparently healed cleanly enough that he was allowed to wander around out of bed, because Shepard couldn't see the pillow behind his head.

"It hurts me when you say things like that," Shepard yawned, rubbing sleep out of his eye with the heel of his hand.

"You must be sleepy if you can't even come up with a decent comeback."

"Kaidan," Shepard whined, "I revolutionized galactic history today, stop picking on me. Or at least wait a few minutes so I can wake up enough to pick back."

"Fair enough," Kaidan laughed, but it petered off after a couple seconds and he looked uncertain. "I wasn't sure if I should call..."

"Of course you should have," Shepard sat up straighter. "I'm, uh... glad you did."

"I'm glad that you're glad," Kaidan replied. "It's good to see you're in one piece, Shepard."

They smiled at each other for a moment, and it was only a little uncomfortable. Shepard was suddenly painfully aware of his shirtless, sleep-tousled state and thought about excusing himself and putting on a uniform. He could have sworn he saw Kaidan's eyes wander a little bit at the beginning of their conversation though, and he wanted to hold onto that hope for a moment so he left it.

He had been thinking about Kaidan a lot over the last few days. He didn't know what to call the emotions that surfaced when he did. One part nauseous dread to one part sexual frustration to one part unknowable, giddy happiness.

"I saw the vids, what happened to Cuba," Kaidan said after a moment, leaning forward towards whatever device he was using to capture his image. His eyes softened, Shepard could see it even on his little screen. "I'm sorry, Shepard."

"Yeah," Shepard nodded, "me too. How's your family? Have you heard from them yet?"

"Not yet," he glanced away at something off screen, "still hoping, though."

"Communications are down all over. I'm sure they're just waiting for a chance to call you."

It was frustrating to look down at Kaidan's face cradled between his hands and know that he was in pain, and yet have absolutely no way to reassure him. He settled for a watery smile, his fingers tightening on the edges of the screen. It was in little moments like these that he really felt the true effects of the war and what it took from all of them. It shouldn't be this hard to care about someone.

"So you cured the Genophage and brokered an alliance between the Krogan and the Turians," Kaidan said, looking back at the camera. "And brought the Rachni back to life, let's not forget that. And played a direct hand in revolutionizing humanity's place in the galaxy, though that was more of a side project," he laughed, managing a grin that looked to be mostly genuine. "Got any other galaxy-shaking plans for the next couple weeks, Shepard?"

"Nothing on my schedule," Shepard replied, "but you know me, I like to play it by ear. Who knows, maybe I'll feel like uplifting the Yaug later."

"What?"

"Long story. Good one though, Liara becomes the Shadowbroker at the end."

"What?"

"Oh right, you didn't know about that," Shepard laughed, settling back on his bed with his head propped up on his hand and the screen propped up by a pillow beside him. "Have you got half an hour or so?"

"For that story I have all the time in the world, and then more time for the one about Tuchanka. There's some crazy story about a giant thresher maw devouring a Reaper," Kaidan arched a skeptical eyebrow at him.

"Not so crazy, though I don't think she actually ate it," Shepard replied, laughing.

"Okay, maybe tell the Tuchanka story first."

Shepard laughed.

It was becoming easy to talk to Kaidan again, like anything became easier with practise. It was like flexing a muscle that had fallen into disuse, and he could feel the strength and dexterity slowly returning as they went on. Their conversation had felt stiff before, but it flowed naturally as he described the feeling of standing on Tuchanka as the golden light of the Cure came floating down on them like snowflakes.

It had been a moment that would define a species, but it had defined a man as well. He couldn't pretend that he didn't have doubts, but he'd never let them inspire a moment of hesitation in him. Curing the Genophage was a huge risk, the repercussions of which would echo through galactic history for another thousand years or more, but he'd never considered the thought that there was another option.

It was right. That wild instinct throbbing in his blood told him it was right with such force that he could actually feel it sitting in his bones. No one had any right to sentence the Krogan to this fate, especially not the Dalatrass with her ass-backwards, elitist, unforgivable speeches about their only purpose being war. What did she know? What did any of them really know about the Krogan and how they had evolved over the last one and a half thousand years? No one paid attention enough to know, except him and he knew just one thing with certainty: what had been done to them was arrogant and depraved and he couldn't stand by and let it continue.

That was what no one had understood. Wrex certainly hadn't, not until the very end. When he'd told Wrex he wanted to save people, he had been including the Krogan in that number. Their plight was as important to him as any other, and he'd fought with his whole heart and soul in its name.

And when they had fought their way inch by inch through Hell and Mordin had done what he had done the feeling that had come over his battered, aching body had been indescribable. He had felt like he was floating half an inch off the ground, like all the darkness in him was finally being burned completely clean.

He had been a junkie and a murderer, he had done awful and unforgivable things, but he had done this thing to. He felt redeemed, like he could hold his head up without shame and face his destiny knowing his life had been a benefit to the galaxy. It was a good feeling.

It was funny that of all the people living in this galaxy he was the one writing his name across history. He laughed about it with Kaidan, laying on his back while he held the screen over his head with one hand.

"God," he said, still chuckling, "if you'd come up to me on the street eight years ago and told me this was where my life was going to end up taking me I would have... I don't know. Robbed you at knifepoint probably."

"Yeah, that beacon on Eden Prime sure threw a wrench in our destiny didn't it Shepard?" Kaidan had found a seat somewhere in his room and was sitting with his back to the faultlessly blue Presidium sky.

"Destiny, yeah," Shepard rolled his eyes, "tell me you don't believe in that garbage."

"Maybe not," Kaidan replied soberly, "but if anyone could make a case for it, it's you. Messed up kid becomes saviour of the galaxy, dies, comes back, and becomes saviour of the galaxy again. You might not see the hand of the God in your life, but other people sure do."

"You'd think that if God was overly concerned about me and what I did with myself he would have given me a better start that Trinidad," Shepard replied wryly.

"I can't fault your logic," Kaidan agreed. "When are you going to be back on the Citadel?"

"We're heading back soon, just have to check out a few promising signals coming from some of the systems around here," Shepard said lightly. He rolled over on his stomach and lay on his stomach with his head proper up by both hands, looking down into the image of Kaidan's face.

"Is that your way of saying you have to go poking around Reaper space on covert missions?" Kaidan asked, arching an eyebrow at him.

"Yeah, but when you say it that way it sounds dangerous and terrifying," Shepard pointed out.

"Yeah," Kaidan said frankly, "it does."

"It is," Shepard sighed, "God Kaidan, everything's so intense out here, I almost never slow down long enough to realize..." He shook his head, snapping himself out of that train of thought with a jerk. "Hah, listen to me ramble-"

"No, keep going," Kaidan shook his head.

"It's not important."

"It's fine. I want to hear it."

Shepard sighed, rubbing at his eyes with one hand as he framed a response in his mind.

"I never realize I'm afraid until everything's over, and I'm in my cabin all freshly changed and showered. I sit down and this wave of nausea and terror just comes over me until I shake. It's never been like this before. I just..."

"I just have this feeling, you know, like I'm finally becoming a real person. During the suicide mission I had the Asari Justicar who was traveling with us teach me meditation and lately every time I get into it I just feel this really deep inner peace that I've never had before. I have my doubts and my nightmares, but they're so small compared to how they used to be. I really feel... like I'm the kind of person I've always wanted to be. I feel complete." He squirmed a little, hiding his eyes behind one hand as an involuntary rush of colour spread across his cheeks. It was embarrassing, for some reason, to hear it said out loud like that.

"That sounds terrific," Kaidan said, not even a hint of mockery playing around the edge of his voice. His soft brown eyes were very serious. "So what's the problem?"

"I'm used to feeling like I have nothing to lose and nothing to fear. The more I get in my life, the closer I get to people, the more I feel like I have to lose if... if I can't actually do this. If I die tomorrow I'm going to die wishing I had more time. That's... new for me." He trailed off, avoiding Kaidan's eyes for a moment because he wasn't sure what his own might still be capable of communicating. Most people found his mechanical eyes to be blank, almost void of emotions, but Kaidan had always been far too adept at reading him.

Kaidan was quiet for a moment.

"Look, Shepard, I'm getting out of the hospital tomorrow and I was thinking that maybe you'd... I don't know. Want to get a drink or something," he hesitated, drawing in a breath like he was going to say more, but letting it out silently.

"Yeah," Shepard smiled, glancing back at the screen, "did that place we went to for varren burgers with Ash get rebuilt?"

"I don't know, I'll check," Kaidan smiled. There was a sense of uncertainty in the air that Shepard wasn't sure if Kaidan was feeling as powerfully as him. They both knew what was going on between them, but Shepard wasn't sure if he was willing to act on it, and he damn well wasn't sure if Kaidan was. Was this drinks or was it... _drinks_? Shepard had no idea, and he was pretty sure Kaidan was equally clueless.

They would just have to play it by ear. Suddenly Shepard longed for a script that would explain all this to him and give him exactly the right words to say as it explained to him exactly how he was supposed to feel. Sorting out his feelings for Kaidan was much harder than navigating galactic politics by the seat of his pants.

"I've been watching you on the vids," Kaidan said, "I forget what it's like to actually talk to you. You come off as kind of an asshole on camera, I have to say."

"That's intentional," Shepard assured him, "and I also just really hate reporters."

"I saw that you clocked Al-Jilani again," he actually looked a little disapproving.

"I know, it's like a schtick now but," he shrugged, "she just works so hard to earn it. I feel like it would be wrong not to indulge her. And anyway, someone has to punch reporters once in a while. It keeps them on their toes."

Kaidan laughed, then glanced at his omni-tool as it lit up on his wrist.

"We've been talking for two and a half hours," he exclaimed. "I've got to go, Shepard. One last physical before the doctor slaps his seal of approval on me and I get out of here."

"Yeah, I should have been on duty thirty minutes ago," Shepard sat up and swung his legs over the edge of the bed. "I... I'm really glad you called."

"So am I. Take care of yourself, Shepard. Keep Vakarian on your six," Kaidan hesitated again, like he was going to say something but couldn't quite get it out.

"I always do," Shepard grinned. "It was good talking to you, Kaidan."

"You too, Shepard. Good luck out there."

"Thanks."

He took a shower, even when he was behind schedule he couldn't stand to be even a little bit dirty, and dressed hurriedly. Garrus looked up from his calibrations with amusement as Shepard scurried up to his station and flashed his omni-tool, downloading upgrade specs and maintenance reports for review.

"A little late, aren't you?" He asked, taking in his unshaven jaw and damp hair with obvious amusement.

"I was taking to Alenko," Shepard said. "He was filling me in on how things are going in Council space."

"Uh-huh. So you two are good again?" His voice was so airy-light it had to be forced, and Shepard fixed him with a baffled look.

"Is that the overly casual tone that disguises anger I hear?" He asked. "What's the problem, Vakarian?"

Garrus sighed.

"It's none of my business."

"If it wasn't your business you wouldn't feel the need to sigh so dramatically. Let's hear it. You know I will eventually, when you run your mouth off to some crew member and the gossip mill cycles it back to me," he grinned, "if you want to keep secrets from me you're going to have to learn to be less chatty."

Garrus scowled, leaning back from his terminal and turning to face him.

"Alenko was a real asshole to you on Horizon," he said frankly. "He literally turned his back on you, and from what I hear he wasn't much better on Mars. I just think... you shouldn't get your hopes up with him." His mandibles quivered and he looked away. "I still remember how you were the first few days after Horizon. I saw you reload your gun and then use it to smash a mercs face inside out, and stand in the middle of a hail of bullets firing your rifle like you were on a damn shooting range. You scared the shit out of me, Shepard. I don't want to see that again."

Shepard blinked at him. Words seldom escaped him, but they did now.

"Shepard, I never had any brothers, but if I had... I would have wanted one like you. You are my family in every way that's important," their eyes met again.

"Garrus," Shepard grinned, "you really are a big softy under all those scales aren't you? I love you to, buddy."

He stepped forward and embraced the Turian like they really were brothers. It was worth the fear of losing everything, to have moments like this in his life. It was worth anything, any amount of painful struggling. Moments like this, and moments like he'd had with Alenko just now, talking for hours and laughing the whole time.

"Alenko... made a mistake. We all make mistakes. I trust him," Shepard gripped Garrus' shoulder pad with one hand, jostling him around like he used to in the old days. "And I've always got you to fall back on."

"Shut up," Garrus punched him on the arm, not lightly.

"I'm just saying, I think I saw your eyes get a little gooey for me back there," Shepard smirked.

Garrus punched him again, harder.

"You're probably right, it would never work between us. I'm just too good-looking."

"Of course, that's the problem we would have," Garrus shoved him away with one hand.

"That and I don't know that I could date a guy with a mouth full of razors," Shepard grimaced. "I don't see that going well for us."

"Don't you have work to do?"

"Right, of course," Shepard paused, glancing over his shoulder as he turned toward the door. "Garrus?"

"Hmm?"

"I consider you my brother to. I know I can be kind of a flippant dick, but... it really means a lot to me. What you said."

Garrus smiled behind his mandibles.

"When soldiers form bonds like this in the Turian army we share blood, cutting our palms and clasping hands until our blood mixes and we become like brothers before the spirits of our ancestors. If it wasn't for the fact that mixing proteins like that might kill us, I would share offer to share blood with you," Garrus was very serious as he said this. Shepard knew better than to crack wise about something that made his face go still like that.

"We do stuff like that in some human cultures too," Shepard said, "and if it wasn't for the protein thing I'd accept. No hesitation."

They did clasp hands, their palms pressed together as though they really were sharing blood. Then Shepard turned and left, jogging down the hall toward the Medbay and checking his clock on his omni-tool with a chorus of creative and truly foul Spanish explicatives. He was going to be playing catch-up all day.

Despite the annoyance, he felt great. Centered. Complete.


	28. Almost

A kiss that is felt but never tasted is a tragedy.

- Kritsun Larell, Krogan Playwright

* * *

><p>He saw Shepard take the missile to the face with a shock, as though his heart had been ground zero of a cryogenic blast and watched him stumble back, out of cover with his limbs akimbo, his rifle flying from numb fingers. Kaidan covered him as the ambient blue nimbus of his shields flickered and went down. He could feel his pulse beating against his teeth as he lined up a head shot and eliminated a skulking trooper trying to line up a shot on the suddenly vulnerable man. The visor of Shepard's helmet had been cracked by the detonation but it hadn't shattered. Instead it clung in place, a useless, blinding plate of white cracks, more dangerous that chips of glass flying everywhere.<p>

Shepard couldn't see. He was disarmed, out of cover, and he couldn't see a thing.

Garrus was there, of course, and he killed the man with the rocket launcher long before he could load another missile, but he was at a bad angle. He couldn't see the engineer that was deploying his turret pack, even as Kaidan raised his omni-tool. The package slipped from the other mans nerveless hands as currents of blue energy leapt out of the circuitry of his suit. A cloud of white smoke billowed off of him, adding to the smell of ozone and scorched metal that was already heavy on the battlefield.

It was too late for a quick fix though. The turret whirred and shot apart as its handler flailed, its muzzle extending in a flash of silver.

Kaidan didn't think. There wasn't time for such luxuries. Instead he tucked his arms, rolled out of cover and came up running. Shepard stumbled, wrenching the helmet with its cracked visor off his head and blinking at the sight of his death focusing on him from the other end of the battlefield. The deadly rattle of turret fire began, Kaidan could feel his barriers rippling as bullets washed over him.

His shoulder hit Shepard in the rib cage and his momentum barreled them both over, their feet disappearing from under them as they both went toppling to the ground, behind cover. Kaidan pushed himself up on his hands and looked down at Shepard's dented and bullet-pocked armour. A puddle of blood spread with alarming speed below them.

"Alenko," Shepard's eyes were dull, as though their usual radiance was being obscured by a film of dust, and he coughed blood, "I didn't know you cared so much."

"No," Kaidan felt years of field medicine tell him that it was already too late. Medigel was a miracle, but even miracles had limits. Medigel couldn't put this right, not when he'd lost so much blood already. God, there was so much of it, more than it seemed possible to contain in one body.

"So much for being hopeful," Shepard joked weakly as Kaidan applied pressure to the worst of his wounds out of reflex more than anything else. Of course he would crack a joke now, of all times. Kaidan's gloves were already red to the wrists. It felt like he was looking at someone else's hands.

"No," he said it again, his voice feverish and desperate, "nonono." It was half a prayer, half a demand to a God that had been frustratingly silent his entire life. This couldn't happen, not like this, not again, not so soon after they had found their way back to each other. Not when he still hadn't said even a fraction of what he needed to say to this man. This couldn't happen.

"Calm down," Shepard growled, slapping at his omni-tool and wincing as the needles implanted into his hard suit shot jets of cooling medigel into every major artery. "And get back to work. You aren't getting rid of me that easily."

He winced as he pushed himself into a sitting position, rivers of blood still draining out of the cracks and holes rent in the steel that covered him. He seemed fine. Kaidan had read the files on what Cerberus had put in him, including the parts about efficiency channels for medigel injections, but he'd never imagined it would be that complex, that effective. Any other soldier would have been a write-off after taking that kind of hit.

If the Illusive Man had been in front of him at that moment Kaidan might have kissed him before he killed him.

The rest of their battle was surprisingly hum-drum after that, despite Shepard climbing into an Atlas and wreaking unholy terror among the remaining Cerberus troops.

"I never get tired of doing that," he crowed, picking his way through the shattered glass lining the cockpit and dropping to the ground. His gray armour was edged in dried blood, and there was more splattered across his face and sticking in his crimson hair. "I wish they didn't wear helmets, so I could see the 'oh shit' looks on their faces."

"Are you sure you're okay?" Kaidan asked, squinting at him. "Maybe I should take a look..."

"You can look all you like," Shepard grinned, "and you know I'd never give up a chance to play doctor with you."

Kaidan felt a blush tickling his cheeks, but he tried to scowl professionally in order to cover it up.

"Just because you survived that doesn't mean you're okay," he said sternly.

"Now you sound like Chakwas, and the mood is gone," Shepard sighed. "But still, I submit. Check me over, Doctor Alenko."

His pupils were dilating fine, and he responded in all the proper ways to Kaidan's prodding and directions. It was hard to believe, but after a few minutes he had to admit it. Shepard was perfectly fine. Garrus did not look the least bit concerned, apparently seeing Shepard getting shredded by a turret and almost die was something he was going to have to get used to.

"I can't believe you just bounced back from that like it was nothing," he said finally, "you look great, Shepard."

"I could have told you that."

Kaidan punched him on the shoulder, not lightly.

"Why does everyone hit me all the time?" He asked, rubbing it and wincing.

"Because you're an asshole," Garrus supplied helpfully.

"And a little obnoxious," Kaidan added.

"Ugly."

"Smart-mouthed."

"Really ugly."

"Har-har-hardee-har," Shepard laughed sarcastically, rolling his eyes, "you guys are a couple of cut-ups. You would have more success as comedians than soldiers, though that's not saying much really."

They both hit him, hard.

"Jesus," Shepard sighed, cradling his abused arms against his chest as the shuttle appeared overhead, skimming through the blue sky toward them, "I'm going to develop a complex, all this abuse raining down on me."

"Someone needs to shut you up once in a while," Garrus replied. "If you had your way you'd never stop talking, and I really can't imagine a world I want to live in less."

"I hate you, Vakarian."

"No you don't, Shepard."

Kaidan almost asked them when they had become so close, but the answer was obvious of course. Who else had Shepard had all this time when he'd been... otherwise engaged? Of course they were close. Much closer than he and Shepard were anymore, and though it felt strange and decidedly juvenile to say he was jealous he kind of was. When the two of them were together he felt almost like an outsider.

It didn't help that Garrus usually did a pretty good job of pretending that Kaidan didn't exist. If the gossip mill on the ship was anything to go by, that was probably for the best since if he did have anything to say it was all decidedly negative. All he could do was buckle down and work hard, and try to prove to the stoic turian that he really was here for good now. He hadn't considered the thought that he might have to make up for what he'd done on Horizon with Garrus as well as Shepard.

He thought about that on the way back to the Normandy, as Shepard and Garrus shoved each other and squabbled over sniper specs like an old married couple. He hadn't thought about it, but it made sense. He hadn't just turned his back on Shepard, Garrus had been on Horizon to, and everything that he had said to Shepard about treason and terrorism had, by proxy, applied to him to.

He sighed. He was getting sick of apologizing, but there was nothing else to do. When you fucked up, you apologized and hoped the people you cared about were better, more compassionate men than you.

"Alenko," Garrus put a taloned hand on his shoulder as they dismounted the shuttle and Kaidan turned to look at him, "can I have a word?"

"Um, sure, I mean of course," he stumbled. He had been hoping for a little time to get his thoughts in order.

"Can I leave you two alone?" Shepard asked, cocking one dark eyebrow at the two of them. "I need my soldiers, and my shuttle, intact."

"We'll be fine," Garrus assured him.

"Of course," Kaidan agreed.

Shepard didn't look convinced, but he was also eager to get out of his blood-drenched armour.

"Okay," he said finally, "but this better not be some secret meeting where you devise new strategies for beating on me." He gave the two of them one last lingering glance and shrugged before he turned away. He didn't walk like a man who felt the weight of the galaxy on his shoulders, he almost strolled in fact, with his shoulders thrown back and his head high. Kaidan smiled at the sight.

"Over here, Casanova," Garrus growled.

Kaidan raised an eyebrow.

"That was an impressive name drop," Kaidan said cautiously, "and a little... weird."

"I don't understand it completely," Garrus admitted, "but humans seem to use it with people who make eyes at their friends, particularly when those people aren't even close to loyal or good enough for them."

"I wasn't-" Kaidan began his temper flaring, but they both knew in an instant it wasn't true. He had totally been making eyes, and he had been since he found his way back on this ship. He rubbed the back of his head with one hand and sighed. "You don't-" He stumbled again, wincing as he began to understand the depths of his conversational ineptitude.

"I know, it's none of my business, I don't understand, blah, blah, blah, whatever," Garrus rolled his eyes. "I'm not going to comment on it. I just... you know that Shepard cares about you, don't you Alenko?"

"He cares about everyone," Kaidan replied evasively, "that's who he is."

"True enough," Garrus nodded. "But you know that's not what I'm getting at. He cares about you a lot, more than he should. When those elevator doors opened and he saw you on that platform, his face... I knew he'd never be able to do it."

Kaidan didn't say anything. There was nothing to say really.

"But I would have. I would have shot you stone dead, even if I hadn't known that Shepard couldn't do it, just so he wouldn't have to. I'm not trying to intimidate you or anything, I just wanted you to know where I'm coming from when I say what I have to say next. I don't like you. I don't trust you. If you keep doing what you're doing now that might change, but for now that's just how things are."

"Okay..." Kaidan wasn't sure what he was getting at. "Now what's the thing you have to say next?"

"You really need to do something about... whatever it is that's going on between the two of you."

Kaidan blinked at him, simultaneously stunned, confused and irritated. It was an odd sensation.

"You just said that you hated me," Kaidan rubbed at the bridge of his nose. He didn't understand turian conversation.

"I don't hate you," Garrus said hastily. He hesitated. "Well, maybe a little. But that's not what this is about. This is about him. About Shepard."

"What about him?" Kaidan asked. As the novelty of their surreal conversation began to wear off he could feel his temper flaring up again. "What do you know about what's going on between us anyway?"

"Please," Garrus rolled his eyes, "everyone knows about it. There was a pool going on the SR1, before the end."

Kaidan felt all the colour drain out of his face, and then return in a rush of heat that swept up his neck and flooded his cheeks. He ducked his chin and glanced away, trying to hide it and failing miserably.

"Are you serious?"

"Yes. Didn't you notice that people were starting to drop hints?"

"No!"

"Oh yeah. Chakwas had almost two hundred credits riding on the two of you. I thought she was going to lock you in quarantine with some mood music and candles."

Kaidan moaned and buried his face in his hands.

"The important thing is that you two have been circling each other like this for almost three years, and I'm sick of it. I'm sick of watching Shepard wasting his time wondering what to do about it, and..." He shrugged. "I want him to be happy. You seem to do it for him, so... it doesn't matter what I think of you. You should do something now, before it's too late."

Kaidan sighed.

"That felt really close, today," he admitted, with a shiver like icicles sliding up and down his spine. "Seeing him like that..."

"It was close," Garrus replied, his face uncharacteristically animated as his mandibles twitched. "Don't let him trick you with his smooth-talking bullshit. That was really fucking close."

"I've gotta go," Kaidan said. "I'll think about what you said."

"I also feel obligated to tell you that I will kill you if you hurt him again. Seriously. I'm not being cute."

"Garrus, if I ever do anything like that again I'll probably just kill myself," Kaidan said honestly. "And as crazy as it sounds, I'm glad you're here. I'm glad you've got his back."

"I always have," Garrus said pointedly, but he turned away and headed down the ramp to the hangar bay. After a moment of hesitation, Kaidan followed, thumbing the button for the captain's cabin after only about half a minute of standing in the elevator staring at it. Garrus was right. It had been three years, and it was getting old. It was time to do something or just give up on it and get on with his life.

The door to Shepard's cabin slid open with a hiss, almost silent, but it was enough to elicit a moan from the form huddled on the large bed at the other end of the cabin. Kaidan advanced into the room cautiously, his eyes straining. The only light was what the fish tanks along one wall were capable of throwing, a soft blue radiance that did little but outline the metal edges of things and paint the muscles of Shepard's back in shades of midnight. He was laying on his side, his back to the light, and a pillow crammed over his head.

It was a strange scene, but Kaidan understood it well enough. He'd been in just such a situation himself, more times than he cared to count.

"Shepard?" He asked, keeping his voice low.

The pillow stirred, and he caught a flash of red hair and a pale, clammy face as Shepard cracked one eye open just a sliver and looked at him.

"I didn't know you'd started getting migraines."

"Just a few," Shepard winced at the thunder of his own voice and pushed himself into a sitting position. His eyes stayed narrowed into slits as he swung his legs over the side of the bed. He was wearing a pair of military briefs and not much else, but Kaidan tried not to let that distract him. It was harder than it had any right to be, but he moved forward a little as Shepard cradled his head in his hands, both elbows resting against his knees.

"You know... I've picked up a couple tricks for dealing with them. If you want," he hesitated, "or I can come back later."

"I took a pill, I should be good in a few minutes," Shepard winced again, raising his head and rubbing the back of his neck with one hand. "But fuck it, yeah, I'll take anything you've got."

"Okay," Kaidan rolled his shoulders back and went to stand beside the bed, "lay down. Face down."

"Am I going to need an adult?" He asked, raising a suddenly skeptical eyebrow.

"Maybe later," Kaidan replied. It had been so long since he'd actually tried to flirt with somebody, it sounded awkward to his own ears. But Shepard just grinned at him and gingerly repositioned himself so he was laying down with his head on the pillow, his face still turned away from the light source.

Kaidan ran his hand lightly down Shepard's spine, and then moved it to his shoulder blade, feeling along the ridge of bone until he identified the nerve cluster he was looking for. He pressed down on it, firm, then lightly, and kneaded it under his fingers. Then he repeated the action on his other side, as Shepard squirmed and sighed in turns against the pillow. A lifetime of doctors counseling him on his L2 implants had given him a wealth of knowledge on how to deal with migraines, and he knew all the places to touch in Shepard's back and along his sides. He was looking for the place just under the armpit when Shepard suddenly jumped under his touch and grabbed his questing hand, rolling onto his side.

"Sorry," he grinned sheepishly, "ticklish."

"Really?" Kaidan grinned. "The great commander Shepard, bad-ass saviour of the galaxy, has ticklish ribs?"

"And feet," Shepard admitted, "and knees. It's my filthy, shameful secret, or at least one of the many."

"It's cute," Kaidan said, without thinking. The two of them looked at each other and Kaidan suddenly became very aware that Shepard's hand was still holding his and they were both sitting on a wide, white, comfortable looking bed and looking at each other. Shepard was still just in his briefs, and the soft light of the fish tanks painted his smooth torso in shades of blue and silver.

"I'm not cute," Shepard said. His voice was still quiet, but his eyes and face were clear of pain. This was a different kind of quiet, the kind that carried a subtle ribbon of heat at its centre. Even in the semi-darkness his eyes were astoundingly, unbelievably blue. Kaidan remembered the first time he'd ever seen them with a sudden rush of nostalgia. Three years ago. It felt like so much longer.

"You're kind of cute," Kaidan argued lamely, "sometimes."

So much for flirting. He should have predicted that he was going to make of a fool of himself.

Shepard wasn't laughing though. His gaze was intense. They seemed to be very close all of a sudden, though Kaidan wasn't exactly sure if he was leaning forward or Shepard was leaning up. He could smell shaving cream and hard soap on him, clean, hard military smells. His breath was soft and quick, Kaidan could feel it on his face and realized with a shock just how close they were. The air felt still and silent around him, like the world was holding its breath.

'This is the part where you close your eyes,' a small internal voice reminded him. He did. After all this time, after all that had happened he could barely believe they were actually going to-

"Commander, I am truly sorry to interrupt," EDI even managed to sound apologetic, which was good because Kaidan was feeling remarkably homicidal all of a sudden. "But Admiral Hackett is insisting. He needs to talk to you immediately."

"I'm on my way," Shepard sighed. He let go of Kaidan's hand and pushed himself off the bed, retrieving a fresh uniform from a drawer that popped out of the seamless wall at a command from his omni-tool.

"So... I'll go then," Kaidan said after a minute. He caught a glimpse of Shepard's expression over his shoulder, and though it was hard to read in the dim light he thought he saw similar levels of frustration reflected there.

"Thanks for coming, Kaidan. And for the massage," he hesitated, "it helped a lot."

"I've got a lot of experience," Kaidan shrugged, "just call me when it starts up next time."

"Maybe I will," Shepard smiled.

"You should."

Kaidan turned to go. Here he was, yet again, walking away from Shepard without anything important said between them. He sighed with frustration as he waited for the elevator, rubbing both hands through his short-cropped hair. After a moment he pulled up his omni-tool and started typing. He might be too much of a coward to say anything when they were face to face, but the extranet had been created for a reason. This was as good as one as any.

He wrote the note and sent it before he could double-think himself again. Dinner had never felt more intimidating.

But Garrus really was right. Enough was enough, it was time to do something about this. It was terrifying, and exhilarating, and nauseating, and thrilling. He felt like his feet were dangling half a foot off the ground, while his stomach had plummeted to somewhere around the engineering deck.

His omni-tool lit up.

"Kaidan," he read, "I'd love to."

He smiled.

* * *

><p>I thought a chapter from Kaidan's perspective would shake things up a bit and get me out of the slump I've been in the last few days. Also, I'm putting applications to art school together right now, so I have no idea when the next chapter will be up. Sorry guys, I promise that I'll make it a good one at least.<p>

Also, I'm not fishing or anything, but I've noticed a drop off in enthusiasm for this story. I hope everyone is still enjoying it, despite the slow progression of the romance...


	29. Finally

No true love has ever existed that has not gone through fire and suffering. Two souls who come together through hell and find strength in each other, that is love. Eternal and infinite, equal and pure, something beautiful that makes all the hard times worthwhile.

- Larana Nirine, Last Poet of Rakhana

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><p>Maybe he should feel more urgent.<p>

The galaxy was ending, after all, and that felt important and everything but somehow he just couldn't find it in himself anymore. Which wasn't to say he was burnt out, or apathetic, or disillusioned, or any of the myriad of other things it would have made sense for him to be at this point in his life. He just didn't feel the struggle anymore, the sense of constant oppressive duty and expectation that wrapped itself around his life and threatened to suffocate him.

He felt serene. Days passed by full of bullets and fire, death and war, but he seemed to float through them bending himself around obstacles and emerging at the end always one step closer to his ultimate goal. He was winning and he was surrounded by people he trusted and admired. It was hard to be steely and fierce when he was squabbling with Garrus or trading math jokes with the engineers. Or in his all too infrequent brushes with Kaidan.

Kaidan. Even his name brought an unconscious smile to his lips as it flitted through his mind at the drive core terminal. His typing slowed, then stopped all together as he thought about the message he had received, what it might mean and what might be in the midst of happening between them.

He didn't feel serene now, but there still wasn't any of the cold, ferocious intention that had dominated him during his missions against the Collectors. He felt exhilarated and terrified at the same time, absolutely determined and completely clueless. It was a good feeling, and yet at the same time it felt like he was constantly on the edge of a full-body dry-heave, nauseous and dry-mouthed and weak kneed.

It was different. It had been a long time since he had felt something like this, something so fresh and new.

"Shepard," the mechanized purr of Tali's voice broke the near-total silence of his reflections as she came up behind him and set one three-fingered hand on his shoulder, "what's got you grinning like an idiot? Not that you really need a reason I guess..."

He recognized the smile in her voice.

"Just thinking about... stuff," he replied casually, shrugging and beginning to type again.

"That's nice and cryptic," she joked, leaning against the railing.

"Are these efficiency reports accurate?"

"Of course they are," she sniffed disdainfully.

"God, Tali, I miss you when you leave," Shepard said earnestly, "twenty-four hours and you've got this place running like a Swiss watch."

"I don't know what that means."

"It means I love you," he said airly, "marry me and we'll have beautifully efficient genius children together."

"That's not how it works, Shepard," she laughed, "besides, I thought I wasn't your type."

"That would be a problem, I suppose," Shepard agreed. "Maybe I should ask Kal Reegar?"

Tali laughed again, but it petered off after a couple moments and Shepard could feel her lamp-like silver eyes focus on him with new determination. He pretended he hadn't notice, still typing diligently away, identifying systems that would need to be upgraded when they docked with the Citadel.

Other things would happen when they docked too. Shepard's guts gave a visceral twist at the thought, like a coil of old ropes wound together in a tangle. That happy-sick feeling seized him with force.

"I thought you'd already found someone," Tali said with exaggerated casualness.

"Stop," Shepard warned her, "I don't want to hear ship gossip. I hear enough of it from Garrus."

"Like I need gossip," Tali waved him off with one hand, her brilliant eyes narrowing in the darkness of her helmet, "what with you two batting your eyes at each other in the middle of battle as geth explode around you."

Shepard groaned with obvious distress.

"Why does EVERYONE know about this?" He asked, exasperation lacing every syllable. "Is there a newsletter or something?"

"Hey, I'm all for it," Tali raised her hands defensively, "I have money riding on the two of you getting married and having babies together."

"That's not how it works," Shepard informed her humourlessly. "Besides, can you imagine me as a parent?" He shuddered. "I'm here worrying that I'd be a bad boyfriend, but I'd be the worst father figure ever."

"I don't think so," Tali's voice was quiet but serious. Her eyes burned into him, demanding his attention until he stopped pretending to care about what was happening to the engines and turned to face her. A moment of silence hung between them, and a stare from her to him that reminded him of exactly how awful fathers could be to their loving, talented, genius daughters.

"Maybe not the worst," he agreed after a moment, "but I think that the question of babies is kind of moot, anyway."

"You'd be a great father, Shepard," Tali sounded earnest.

"What exactly are we basing this on?" Shepard asked wryly. "I guess I do have certain skill when it comes to using violence to resolve conflict, not to mention rampant emotional unavailability. Those are the kind of things that make good fathers, right?"

"Stop it," Tali hit him, lightly, on the arm. "You know why you'd be a good father?"

"Because I'm an asshole that everyone in the universe feels the need to hit constantly? That would at least create a solid base of angst, which is something every child needs to help them feel important."

"Stop it. You'd be a good father because you care."

"The qualifications for parenthood get laxer every year."

"Shepard, you are making me upset."

"Sorry," Shepard sighed. "I guess I'm kind of self-sabotaging at the moment. Trying to convince myself that I'm too damaged to put myself out there, so it's better for me to keep all my emotions balled up under steel where they can't be threatened." He leaned back against the terminal, his legs stretched out in front of him, crossed casually at the ankles.

"Humans," Tali sighed and copied him, settling against the terminal beside him and covering his hand with hers, "I don't even pretend to understand you anymore. What's up?"

"Oh, you know, the usual. Galaxy to save and everything," Shepard sighed with exaggerated irritation. "And... I think Alenko asked me out."

"You think?"

"He sent me a message."

"Coward," Tali actually sounded disapproving.

"Cut the guy some slack," Shepard cautioned her, "things have been pretty weird between us. It's... not as easy as it feels like it should be."

Tali laughed. "It never is."

"That makes me feel better," Shepard sighed and rubbed the back of his neck with one hand. "Well, not really better. Just slightly less awful."

"Stop trying to convince yourself you're not happy," Tali hit him again and he cringed away from her like a battered wife, shielding his face with both hands and flinching. "I see you standing here with a big stupid grin on your face thinking about him. Focus on that, instead of torturing yourself with everything that can go wrong."

"Easier said than done," Shepard sighed again. "But you're right of course, that's what I should be doing. I just..." He trailed off and grasped inarticulately at the air. "I just... don't know what to do. And no matter how much I sit down and try to analyze this, break it down into numbers and equations that I can study and understand, the more confusing it gets. I'm so far outside my comfort zone that I can't even think up a metaphor to describe it. And if I fuck up... I don't know how I'd live with myself if I fucked up. After everything that's happened between us I couldn't stand it if I was the one that ruined it."

"You won't ruin it," Tali assured him.

"All evidence to the contrary," Shepard sighed, "I still feel like I will."

"No way," Tali squeezed his hand, "you two are... perfect in a way. Despite all the ways you aren't."

"That doesn't make any sense. Oh, I get it, you just want to win your bet," Shepard gave her a playful shove.

"Well," Tali shrugged, "maybe a little bit. But I ALSO want to see you two get together so you'll be happy, so it's not entirely selfish."

"Just mostly selfish."

"Shut up," Tali pushed herself back to her feet and took his hand, tugging on it gently. "And go get ready. You want to look good, don't you?"

"Are you saying I don't?"

They looked at each other, in silence for a moment.

"Ouch," Shepard sighed.

"Maybe try shaving," Tali advised, "and, I don't know, something other than a uniform."

He looked down at himself, looking for stains or unsightly wrinkles, but nothing looked out of place. He looked back up at her and raised on eyebrow. "What else is there?"

She shook her head at him, a sigh rising up until her entire body shifted with the draw and release of exasperation.

"Men," she sighed again.

Shepard shrugged, grinning. "Say what you want, but you've gotta love us."

All joking and teasing aside, he hadn't shaved today and it did seem like bad form to show up to dinner all stubbly and unkempt. His shift wasn't technically over, but he was the Commander and if he wanted to bend the rules a little at the end of the galaxy he would. He left the engineering deck and returned to his cabin for a shower, scrubbing himself until his skin ached. He shaved carefully, precisely shaping the neatly trimmed sideburns he left himself. He explored the previously ignored options in the cabinet, sniffing aftershaves and colognes until he found one that wasn't overpowering. He plucked his eyebrows, flossed his teeth and clipped his fingernails, labouring over himself until he was exactly as clean and precise as he wanted to be.

He put on a uniform, because as much as he had been joking with Tali there wasn't really another option. There was a pair of blue jeans and a t-shirt in one of the drawers, but Shepard didn't even consider putting them on. He wasn't himself if he wasn't in uniform and Kaidan knew that. He spent almost twenty minutes nervously fingering seams and zippers and folds.

It was strange, perhaps, for a dirty little street rat to turn into the kind of man who took such care with mundane issues like appearance. Being clean and put together was a symbol, it made him feel confident, in control of himself and his destiny. When he had been unsure of himself he'd been able to wear his newly polished and cleaned image like a suit of armour that protected him from the shades of what he had once been. He needed that feeling right now, when he felt like all his usual cockiness and self assurance was sliding between his fingers like sand.

Saren and the geth, the Reapers, the Collectors, death and life and the fate of the universe, all of that was nothing. This was something. This was stepping outside of the person that he had made himself into, that was always sure and confident on the outside even if he wasn't on the inside, the one who covered himself with grins and laughter and brazen courage and never let himself be intimidated or unsure. This meant being a real person, with no more masks and armour and shields.

Shepard was scared.

In a way that made it easier. He had been scared before, and there was only one thing to do when he ran across that obstacle in his path. He had to grit his teeth, get ready, and be awesome. He looked at himself one more time in the mirror, checking over details, and left his cabin for the first real date he'd ever been on in his life.

The galaxy was a funny place.

It took more courage to sit down at the table than it had to walk the fractured, splintering path between the Normandy and the geth dreadnought, and nothing in the galaxy terrified him as fundamentally and completely as the thought of dying in space again. When he'd been standing in the airlock he hadn't had a choice. Sitting down though, that was a choice, the final choice, the last step in accepting this strange, twisting delirium that had been born in him.

Part of him thought that nothing could be worth it, even when he scooted his chair forward and leaned his arms on the table, locking the moment in place.

Kaidan smiled at him, and it was worth it. And then they talked.

* * *

><p>Shepard was staring out, over the serene blue waters of the Presidium's artificial lake, when Kaidan finished paying the bill. He was leaning with his elbows resting on the railing and his chin propped up on one hand. He looked so normal, like any of the half-dozen other soldiers Kaidan could see scattered about, like there was no great, impossible weight resting on his shoulders. He looked almost relaxed, to be honest, and when Kaidan came up and leaned beside him on the railing he couldn't miss the huge smile that was spread across his face.<p>

"What are you thinking about?" He asked.

"I was thinking that you outrank me now," Shepard replied, tearing his eyes away from the scenery and grinning wickedly at him. "So I can fraternize you and use it to get myself commendations and medals."

"I don't think there's really a rank for you anymore," Kaidan laughed. "But I know I don't outrank you. I'm just-"

"A major, which is a whole rank above a commander. See how that works?" Shepard's eyes glittered at him, full of mirth.

"Yeah, but you're Shepard. The Shepard."

"If you ever say that again I'm going to smack you so hard your ancestors will file assault charges against me," Shepard pointed a finger at him. "You of all people know I'm not 'the' anything. Just a soldier."

"I of all people know you're not 'just' anything," Kaidan replied. His hand wound around the pointing finger and pulled it down until Shepard's hand relaxed. It felt like they should pull apart, they were in uniform and in public after all, but he didn't. The small touch, Shepard's hand against his, was worth any amount of scandal it might generate. "Anyway, what does rank matter at the end of the world?"

"I'm just saying, I think you should take the lead on this Alenko. You know, as superior officer," Shepard glanced down at their intertwined hands as though he wasn't exactly sure how to react to it. He didn't pull away though, instead he inched a little closer and Kaidan felt his hand close possessively around his own. "And because well... I don't really have any clue what I'm supposed to do. Liara suggested romantic comedies, but I think she was joking."

"Yes," Kaidan assured him passionately, "she was. You definitely shouldn't take notes from romantic comedies."

"I thought so," Shepard nodded to himself. "But that doesn't help me figure out what I'm supposed to do, just what I'm not supposed to do. And Donnelly tried to explain bases and dates to me but that was just confusing and Scottish. I'm... kind of on a limb here. I'm supposed to open doors for you and we don't have sex until the third date, that's all I know. And doors open themselves for the most part around here."

He squinted at Kaidan.

"Why are you trying not laugh right now?" He asked suspiciously.

"Because you're being adorable," Kaidan replied, unable to help himself. He laughed, and regretted it when Shepard pulled his hand away.

"What? No I'm not. I'm being weird and emotionally unavailable. I don't do 'adorable,'" he smacked Kaidan on the shoulder as he continued laughing, "stop it, damn you! I'm a savage, galaxy-saving bad ass!"

"Of course you are," Kaidan laughed, flinching as Shepard's hand closed into a threatening fist. "No! I'm serious, you are. But it's... I don't know. Nice to know that there are some things you're as bad at as everyone else."

"What do you mean?"

"Shepard, no one knows the 'right' way to do this kind of thing. There is no right way," he covered Shepard's fist with his hand and pulled it down again. The two of them looked at each other for a moment and Kaidan watched the thoughts tumbling around behind Shepard's fierce blue eyes. "But, I get it. I'll try to keep us on track."

"Right. So... like... what do we do now? Shake hands?" A touch of colour bloomed across Shepard's cheeks. "Does this even count as a date or..?"

"Sure," Kaidan laughed. "This can count as a date. And people don't usually shake hands after a date."

"Oh so... oh! Ohhhh," his eyes were sly. "Out here? In the open?"

"Why not?" Kaidan closed the small distance between them, so they were close enough to put their arms around each other. Shepard was all familiar scents, military soap, generic shaving cream and shampoo. His hand was callused like a soldier's should be, his uniform all starch and measured seams even now, at the end of everything. It was almost painfully attractive at that moment, Kaidan could feel every cell in his body craving him. "You're always saying that nothing we used to think of as important means anything anymore."

"Hmmm," Shepard raised one hand, set it against his cheek. He didn't pull back or push forward, his movements were almost leisurely as his fingers followed the line of his cheekbone and then ran back, through Kaidan's dark hair, to the base of his neck. "If we do this than it means that everything we've been talking about isn't just talk anymore. It's for real."

"Is that bad?" Kaidan asked. He followed Shepard's lead, not pushing them out of the moment. His hand rested on Shepard's waist, feeling his breath moving slow and steady through his stomach and up into his chest. Muscles coiled thick and full of lethal energy under his hand, warm to the touch.

"No way. I just wanted you to know that for me... this is serious. I'm not screwing around and if we do this... it's real.

Kaidan looked into his eyes. He was dead serious, and a little scared. Kaidan had gotten used to being able to read Shepard's moods like they were written across his forehead, but he'd never seen anything like this in him before. He understood. Shepard's life was full of sharp edges, there was never anything he could rely on to take his weight for a little while. He was used to standing on his own, and being this close to something so different was bound to be a little intimidating.

There was nothing he could say to make it better, so he kissed him instead.

He never thought he would be the one to kiss Shepard, he was the follower while Shepard was the one that actually did things. But his hand on Shepard's waist tightened, drawing them flush against each other, and it was his head that darted down and fit their mouths together. They came together gracefully, Shepard sliding in against his body like he was made to be there, like they had been put together with each other in mind. The hand on the back of his neck curled around to his shoulder and Shepard's other hand splayed out against his cheek, fingers lacing in his hair. They both pulled, drawing themselves together until not an inch of space remained anywhere to separate them.

Shepard tasted like the bourbon he had been drinking at lunch and of fierce spices left over from the seafood soup he'd eaten, cayenne, pepper and jalapeno. But over and under all that there was a unique sweetness that came from wanting something long and hard enough to make it painful. He was warmer than the artificial sunlight pouring down on them, and more nourishing.

The moment felt surreal. Kaidan had been waiting for this moment for so long, sometimes it felt like he'd been waiting his entire life and just never known it, and now that it was actually happening it felt... words couldn't describe how it felt. Their mouths opened, the kiss deepening, and Kaidan felt that spark that had lingered between them for so long ignite, burning hot and hard in his chest as the seconds ticked by. His arms wrapped around Shepard's back like they were never coming loose again, if he'd had the option to make that possible he might have taken it and damn the rest of the galaxy. Nothing in his life had ever felt as right as kissing Shepard in the middle of the Presidium at that moment.

They seemed to go on locked together forever, and it wasn't close to long enough. They broke apart for a moment, Shepard gulping air, and Kaidan growled and kissed him again, short and hard, then broke and planted just one soft, lingering last kiss on his bottom lip. Shepard's breath was warm and sweet, coming quick as he breathed hard against Kaidan's mouth. The two of them stood, holding each other in silence for a moment before Shepard opened his eyes again.

"Wow..." he said softly, a terrific grin breaking across his face. It was shy and cocky at the same time, and his eyes glittered like sapphires on fire. They were more amazing than ever up close like this, eyes he could look into for the rest of his life.

"Yeah," Kaidan smiled back at him.

Why hadn't he gone with him on Horizon?

The knowledge that he'd wasted so much time, that they could have been like this for months already if he hadn't been stupid and blind was painful. Kaidan bit his lip and Shepard frowned for a moment, noticing the change.

He could apologize. They could spend more time talking, going over the many shapes and styles of grief that existed between them, handling them, cutting themselves on the sharp edges of his past betrayal. Or he could just kiss him again, and keep kissing him until words became meaningless.

* * *

><p>Where did this come from? I have no idea. Perhaps it was all of your wonderful compliments that have made me so productive the last few days, both with this and my portfolio. Thank you to everyone for the inspiring words of support.<p>

Kaidan chose the second option. He wasn't going to let himself waste any more time.


	30. Tenth Street Red

Be happy, and love. There are no greater goals in life.

- Metren Vergene, Turian Mystic

* * *

><p>Happiness could be a disadvantage. If he had been less caught up in his blissful memories of the Presidium not half an hour past he might have caught a glimpse of the children tailing him. The red hair alone should have given him some clue, it stood out against the lush greens and blues of the Presidium with some force. He might even have caught a glimpse of the handlers who were watching the children watch him, hard-eyed men who kept mostly to the shadows with one hand always under their jackets, cradling concealed weapons.<p>

He might have seen any one of these things, and if he had things might have been different. But he didn't, so when he opened the door of the cab and saw someone already sitting there it was quite a surprise.

"Sorry," he said automatically. The woman turned toward him, the hood of her sweatshirt falling away and revealing the long braid of red hair that had been tucked away underneath and Shepard felt a stab like icy knives in his belly. "What-"

He never finished. Something heavy came down on the back of his head, splintering his thoughts into a thousand little pieces. He felt a strong pair of hands shove him forward and went sprawling bonelessly across the narrow seat beside the mystery woman. The world was red as blood, red as his hair, red as HER hair.

"Jesus, Miro," the woman cursed, "he said he wanted him in one piece."

"He is in one piece," the strong hands shoved him again and Shepard felt the car shift as someone heavy climbed in behind him. He was dumped unceremoniously off the seat and onto the floor of the cab by their feet. "He just never said what condition that one piece had to be in."

The woman sighed in obvious disgust.

"What..?" Shepard managed again, his words thick and heavy on his tongue. They echoed, pounding like drumbeats against the inside of his skull. Someone kicked him. Shepard spat a mouthful of blood across the floor as the world went from red to black, and then he was gone, swallowed by a hole as dark and encompassing as death.

He woke somewhere dark and musty and spent a moment blinking in confusion and dismay before he realized there was a bag on his head. His hands were tied behind his back and when he stirred, attempting to sit up, sudden nausea and vertigo seized him with force. Shepard moaned, closing his eyes and feeling throughout his body for the various sources of pain. The back of his head felt sticky and swollen, whatever his kidnappers had struck him with had apparently cut his skull fairly bad. He could feel the collar of his uniform clinging to his skin, smell the dried blood clotted there. His tongue ached where he had bitten it, and he felt something tender in his chest when he breathed that felt remarkably boot-shaped.

Not good. Definitely not good.

He remembered the red hair with sudden force, the thought smashing through his pain and confusion and solidifying the situation for him. He forced himself into a sitting position and after some painful manoeuvrings of his shoulders and neck managed to tip the bag off his head. The light sliced at his eyes like razor blades and a flood of tears obscured his vision as Shepard carefully slid his bound hands down, past his hips and with some difficulty managed to pull them around his stiff legs. The cuffs were good steel, impossible to slip through. For most people at least.

Shepard gritted his teeth and positioned his left hand carefully under the heavy sole of his combat boot. The Reds were still amateurs after all this time, no one in their right mind would have left him with his boots on. He would have been disgusted, but there wasn't room for anymore hatred in him. He already had more than enough. He tucked his tongue against the roof of his mouth to keep it away from his teeth and bore down on his foot. The metacarpal bone in his thumb snapped like a twig, and Shepard grimaced, a short, angry breath hissing through his clenched teeth. He slid his broken hand gingerly out of the handcuffs and snapped the empty ring closed beside its brother on his right wrist.

The cell was just an empty room, a vacant apartment if the layout was any indication, and too filthy to have been vacated recently. A stripe of clean floor showed where he had been dragged through the dust and Shepard counted boot prints. At least three people had been in and out recently, two men and a woman going by the sizes of the tracks. He had been relieved of his omni-tool, but he found the manual panel installed in the wall with relative ease. It took him barely a minute to hack it.

He was wrong. He did have room for a little healthy disgust.

There was no way to access the extranet from the panel, unfortunately, but he did manage to open up the security feeds and access a blueprint of the apartment. He was currently lodged in the second bedroom. Someone was outside the door, identified as a friendly blue happy face on the crude security feed, and three more were in the master bedroom. A final happy dot was fluttering around in the kitchen.

Shepard cursed. They had taken his pistol, obviously, and been thorough enough to find the knife tucked away in his boot. He had one broken hand, a mild concussion, and no idea how he was getting out of this one. He closed the panel and chose a seat against the far wall, opposite the door. There was no fighting his way out. He was going to have to rely on his brain.

Not the worst option, but there were a number of terrible, unforgivable things Shepard would have done for his Widow rifle at that moment.

He had been meditating, regaining control of his battered body and banishing painful distractions, for almost half an hour when the door slid open and a surprised face peeked around the corner. Shepard opened his eyes and the two of them stared at each other for a moment. It was the woman from the taxi, though in this light and with no cudgel coming down on the back of his head Shepard recognized her for what she really was: a girl no more than eighteen. He raised one eyebrow at her, his blue eyes calm as a forest pool and she stiffened, closing the door between them. Shepard smiled and waited.

It didn't take long.

"Arturo," he said conversationally, his voice light and confident when the door slid open again, "I thought you were dead."

"Did you?" The voice was like spiders down the back of his shirt, like razors of ice, like broken fingernails on a chalkboard.

"Well, hoped is probably the more correct term," Shepard amended. He didn't let the tension coiled around his heart show on his face. He stayed perfectly calm and looked up.

There was a time when Arturo Alvarez had been the most frightening man in the galaxy. He still had a remarkable ability to intimidate, even as a weedy thirty-something with almost no hair and three black teeth standing out of his smile. His was the face of cruelty and pain, the face that had hung over him as unbelievable, unbearable things had been done to his body and mind. Everything Shepard knew about evil, truly heartfelt and malicious evil, he had learnt from this man.

"You're even uglier than I remember," Shepard said, pushing himself to his feet with his right hand. He kept the left hanging casually by his side to hide its angry red swelling. His broken hand was a disadvantage but he was glad he'd done it, part of Arturo's planned drama had clearly involved him bound and bloody on the floor. Instead, Shepard was pleased to observe that he was almost a full three inches taller than the other man. Not much, but enough.

"Hmm," Arturo smiled and ran his hand over his barren, sun-freckled scalp. "I lost the genetic jackpot I suppose," he said carelessly, "but I do well enough for myself without good-looks."

He smiled indulgently at the girl by the door who was still standing halfway between the hallway and the bedroom.

"I can see that," Shepard felt his jaw tighten up as dark memories threatened to overtake his serenity. He calmed himself with a few slow breaths and crossed his arms over his chest, again taking care to hide the state of his broken hand. "Why exactly am I here, Arturo? Have I not made my feelings for the Reds clear?"

"You have," Arturo laughed, "Finch's nose is still crooked from when you sucker-punched him outside Chora's Den."

"So what is this?" Shepard asked, looking around the little room. "Are you going to try to kill me? You remember what happened last time, don't you?" He fixed the other man with his best menacing stare, all cold blue eyes with nothing merciful behind them.

"Hard to forget," Arturo's laughter faded, "since it's been the deciding factor of my life thus far."

"What do you mean?"

"Come on," Arturo threw his hands up, real anger surging through him. "A fifteen year old junkie killed my top lieutenants in a back alley and ran away. What do you think that did to my cred with the rest of the gang? I've spent eight years making up for you, X."

"As I recall, you were the one who did the running," Shepard sneered. "And don't call me X."

"Maybe," Arturo shrugged, "it doesn't matter. Now that I've got you here I'm going to prove that I've got what it takes to lead the gang. I'm going to kill you now, while you're in your full glory as fucking saviour of the galaxy, and then I'm going to kill everyone else that stands between me and the head of the table."

He produced the pistol then, a small, low-powered piece so innocuous that Shepard couldn't even name the manufacturer. He held it between them almost casually, watching the light playing off the brushed steel of the barrel.

"You can beg if you want," he said with a small smile. "I'd like it if you did."

"No dice, I'm afraid," Shepard laughed as though he were in full armour and shields with two high-powered soldiers behind him. "In fact, I think I'm going to mock you. Is this really the way you're going to make it to top shit-head? By getting your cronies to kidnap someone and then shooting them point blank while they're defenceless? That's almost as intimidating as beating and raping children."

Arturo frowned, but brushed off Shepard's words with a shrug.

"I'm no hero," he said easily, "or even a real badass. I'm smart. That's something I always saw in you to, so you must know that smart and cowardly works better than stupid and brave. I had high hopes for you once, X. So sad that we came to this."

"I told you not to call me that," Shepard said, taking a menacing step forward, though he hesitated when Arturo raised the little pistol and pointed it at his chest. "And smart only really works when it's paired with brave."

"You would be the authority," Arturo admitted, "except, wait... the coward is the one who ended up with gun in the end. And that's all that really matters."

"Because I'm sure your toadies won't spread ANY rumours about what a pussy you are," Shepard smirked over Arturo's shoulder at the aforementioned toadies. They looked back at him with eyes he recognized, eyes more like lizards than human beings. Arturo glanced over his shoulder and Shepard took the opening, moving with liquid speed.

His left hand was a mass of swollen flesh, useless for anything other than battering. It hit Arturo's gun away, the shot going wide and embedding itself in the wall. His other hand curled just slightly and Shepard slapped Arturo Alvarez with all the strength of his pivoting hips and shoulders behind his cupped hand. The other man stumbled and Shepard moved with him, his elbow folding over the arm that held the gun and pinning it against his chest as he kept the other man between him and the lackies.

"You know how I survived fifteen years on the streets, Arturo?" Shepard hissed. "It wasn't by being smart, or brave, or lucky. It was because I was always ready to do whatever it takes."

Arturo blinked hazily up at him, his eyes registering what was going on as the pain of his suddenly ruptured ear-drums faded. They were close enough to kiss, Shepard could smell the taint on his breath, half-digested eggs and old cheese. His lip curled back in disgust.

"I should kill you," he whispered. "I should have killed you when I was young, and stupid, enough to justify it to myself. Now," he sighed in disgust and reached over, extracting the gun from Arturo's suddenly numb fingers. "Now I see you for what you really are. You aren't smart, or frightening, or savage. You're nothing."

Her released the arm he had pinned and gave Arturo a shove, sending him sprawling back into the arms of his companions. A couple of them went for weapons, but Shepard already had the little gun leveled at them.

"One of you might get a lucky shot off," he warned them, "but I guarantee I can kill all five of you before I bleed out. I have killed Reapers and star-systems, fought in half a dozen wars on hundreds of planets. I'm Commander Shepard," he pulled himself up straight, "and you are a bunch of fools that follow that guys orders. Tell me, do any of you think Arturo Alvarez is worth dying for?"

The four lackies exchanged doubtful looks. The girl with the braid was looking at Arturo like she'd never seen anything so pathetic and sick before in her life.

"Do you want to come with me?" Shepard asked her. There was still a little something human in her, something Shepard recognized as being as battered and run-down as himself and with just as much potential to be something more. Her mud-brown eyes met his blue ones hesitantly and she glanced over at her companions.

"Don't look at them," Shepard said sharply, "look at me. Things don't have to be this way for you anymore than they had to for me."

"Don't listen to him," Arturo wheezed.

"Oh shut up," one of the men holding him shoved him away, and Arturo collapsed on the floor between them. The speaker looked at the girl and shrugged. "You should go with him, Menendez. It's not every day that Commander Shepard gives you a free pass."

"I don't want to," the girl said softly. "This is where I belong."

The speaker shrugged and then looked up at Shepard again. He reached into his pocket and produced a key and the metal wrist-ring that housed the hardware of his omni-tool. He threw both of them at Shepard. He caught them awkwardly, pinning them against his chest with his useless, swollen hand.

"Get lost," the man said, jabbing a thumb down the hallway in the direction of the door.

Shepard gave Menendez a long look.

"If you ever need help getting out..."

"Yeah, I'm sure she can find some way to get a hold of you," the man interrupted. "You're a knight in shining armour, Shepard. Now get lost."

He went, moving cautiously and keeping the gun between them at all times. Every prediction he'd made was accurate, he followed a hall of dirty numbered apartment doors and climbed a dimly lit staircase to the roof. A car was parked there, already scrawled with filthy graffiti. Shepard climbed in, punched co-ordinates into the auto-pilot and leaned back in his seat for a moment. His body was a road-map of pain, but his thoughts were miles away from that. They circled around the girl, Menendez. He sighed, rubbing at his face with his right hand as the car glided up, toward the docking bays. He sent a message to Chakwas, telling her to expect him in the medbay presently, and that he would appreciate a little discretion.

Then he settled back and relaxed. It was a mistake as his muscles uncoiling just made him all too aware of the sharp pain riding his back and shoulders.

Happiness could be a disadvantage, but it had its uses to. He let his mind wander back to happier times and places as the car soared away from the dirt and the grime and the memories of everything that had happened to him.

* * *

><p>"Shepard," Kaidan was even paler than usual as he slid through the gap in the doors before they were fully open and crossed the medbay with a few swift steps.<p>

"I said discretion," Shepard said mildly, shooting Chakwas a look over his shoulder as she typed at her terminal for a moment.

"Don't look at me," she replied, indignantly. "I am the soul of professionalism, as you well know."

"Scuttlebutt," Shepard sighed. "I'm fine, Alenko. Chakwas just has to wash this gash on the back of my head before she shoots me full of medi-gel."

"What happened?"

Chakwas truly was the soul of professionalism. She excused herself silently and discreetly, making sure to close the blinds that looked out on the mess hall as she went. Kaidan watched her go out of the corner of his eye as Shepard examined his newly set and healed hand, flexing the thumb against his palm. When Chakwas was gone Kaidan turned back to him and Shepard pulled his gaze away from his lap and his hand.

"I got ambushed," he said finally, "by a bunch of Reds. And... Arturo Alvarez."

Kaidan recognized the name, of course, and he blinked in surprise.

"Here?" He asked. "On the Citadel?" He ran a hand through his hair and down, across his face. He sat down on the cot beside him and put an arm around his shoulders after only a moment of hesitation.

"It's not so bad," Shepard said. "Broken hand, cut on the back of my shoulder and a little cartilage under my ribs got kicked out of place."

"That's not what I'm worried about," Kaidan said. He sounded unimpressed.

"I didn't kill anyone," Shepard said after a moment, leaning over and rubbing both hands over his face with a sigh. "And I could have. But there was this girl... I remember being like her. And when I offered to take her with me she just..." He sighed.

"You can't save everyone," Kaidan said softly.

"I know that," he said softly. "I've always known that. But it doesn't make it easier when I fail."

Kaidan didn't say anything. To his surprise, Shepard found he didn't have to hear anything either. The warm weight of Kaidan's arm around his shoulders, the comfort of his presence, all of that was enough for him at that moment and he appreciated it more than words could say. He sighed, and let himself surrender to normality, resting his head against Kaidan's shoulder and breathing deep. Even his scent was comforting, military and familiar.

It was a good moment. Shepard sighed in relief, feeling the angry tension leave his back and shoulders. Kaidan leaned back a little and Shepard looked up at him. It seemed natural when they leaned in toward each other and their lips met, Kaidan's grip on his shoulder tightening, Shepard's hand moved to his other arm and drew them closer together. Kaidan's other hand rose and stroked the line of his cheekbone lightly.

Their lips parted and Shepard sighed, his eyes opening. They looked at each other in silence for a moment and Shepard felt himself smile, with real joy, for the first time in hours.

"I like this," Kaidan said softly.

"So do I," Shepard grinned. "Let's do it again."

They were interrupted by a polite cough from the doorway and looked up. Professionalism only stretched so far, Chakwas was grinning like a loon from the doorway. Shepard sighed and looked away, a tinge of colour touching his cheeks. Kaidan stood up after a moment and Shepard felt his body craving the heat of him again already.

"Sorry to interrupt," she said, "but I do have to clean that wound."

"Right," Kaidan blushed. "I'll ah... see you later Shepard."

Shepard nodded. Both of them avoided the doctors eyes as Kaidan passed her and left. Shepard finally looked up as the doors slid closed behind him.

"Don't say anything," he warned her.

She shook her head, still grinning wildly. After a moment of scowling Shepard surrendered, and let a smile break across his face. Chakwas laughed delightedly, like a teenager, and clasped both of his hands in hers.

"I'm so happy for you," she said. Shepard looked away and grinned, shrugging his shoulders. "Any chance at details?"

"No," he gave her a warning look.

"Aw," she tried to look sad, but nothing could overwhelm the smile on her face. She hummed as she cleaned the wound on the back of his head and Shepard had to smile, in between grimaces of course. It was good to know that even at the end of the galaxy it was better to be disadvantaged and happy than miserable and focused.

* * *

><p>I always felt the game really failed when they chose not to elaborate on or resolve any of Shepard's past options.<p> 


	31. The Triumphant Soul

Love is the strongest thing in the universe, because it transforms us and makes us more than we were before. You have never been human if you have never loved someone more than yourself, you have only been a very clever sort of animal.

- Sondra Kendel, Human Diplomat

* * *

><p>Shepard dreamed.<p>

He was laying in his back, looking up a cracked concrete ceiling that dripped blood-warm drops of dirty water. The air was thick and rancid and hot, it pressed down on his chest and made it unpleasant to breathe. He knew every stain and crack on that ceiling intimately, like a child knows his mothers face. Shepard sat up and the greasy foam mattress he had been laying on peeled off his skin with a wet, sticky sound.

He looked around the windowless cell and spotted the child in the corner, squatting on his heels with his chest pressed down against his knees. He had both arms thrown over his head like he was defending himself from an attack, but the room was empty aside from the two of them.

The boy was filthy. He was dressed in a ragged t-shirt that was several sizes too large for his wasted frame and the sinewy arms that stuck out of its ragged sleeves were streaked with oily dirt and runnels of putrid sweat. The pits of his elbows were red and swollen, injection sites leaking yellow puss as the infections set in. His bare feet were scarred by years of running barefoot through broken glass and garbage, tough as tree bark and dirtier than the floor he crouched on. He stank of sweat and vomit and desperation. He was pathetic.

"I know this room," Shepard said. He could hear the ambient squalor of Trinidad through the walls, hear the screaming and gunshots that never seemed to stop. He could smell the poverty in the air, the smell of filth and disease and death. "I grew up in this room."

It was strange to say it, to actually realize it after all these years of taking it for granted. He recognized the child as surely as he did this room. This was where everything had begun for him, where he had realized that he was sick and evil and doomed. It was the birthplace of his deepest depravities and his most glorious triumph.

In this room he had been brought to his lowest points. He had shot himself up with so much poison he had felt his heart stutter and struggle in his chest, tripping on the edge of death. He had been raped, beaten, starved and debased for the pleasure of evil men. He had wanted nothing more than to die.

And he had overcome all of that. He had reached into himself and found something real, something human that had survived all that darkness. In this room he'd discovered that he had a soul.

He had always thought that the horrible, unforgivable things he'd done here had been an expression of something dark and broken inside him. He'd thought, insanely, that he was somehow responsible for it, that someone else would have reacted differently to it. Standing here in his dream he couldn't understand what it was he had expected of himself. If he had been looking down at anyone else in the galaxy huddled on the floor of this room he would never have dreamed of making them responsible for what was happening to them, of expecting them to be anything more than what he was.

He had gotten out of it. That was what should define him.

"X," he said, moving forward and dropping to his knees beside the boy, "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry that this happened to you."

He could be sorry. It was sad. It was sad that all this had happened to a little boy. It was a tragedy that he wasn't the first, or the last person who lived through it.

And it wasn't his fault. It wasn't his fault that all this had happened to him.

The room was burning. He couldn't say when it had begun. Sometimes it felt like it had begun on Elysium, and he could see himself as he had been then, eighteen and wearing a man's face, speaking with a man's voice. Other times he felt like it had begun on Virmire, when Ash died and he realized for the first time how serious his life had become. Sometimes it felt like it might have begun when he died, and he could see that too, his body floating in the darkness while his lifeless eyes wept blood.

But really, if he was honest with himself, it had begun with Kaidan. These fires had been born from that spark that burned between them that was so fantastic and terrifying. What he felt for Kaidan was pure and golden, and it filled him with so much strength and conviction. Thane had told him that loving someone was what gave a man strength and hope. He had been right. Shepard had never felt stronger, or more hopeful, in his life.

He gathered X's shaking body into his arms as the flames grew brighter, burned higher. He was nothing, ashes and coals, and he crumbled through Shepard's fingers until there was nothing but a pile of cinders smouldering between his boots. The blaze devoured concrete like it was dry wood, but Shepard walked through the flames untouched, feeling nothing but a cool tickle as the tongues licked his arms and legs.

He could hear his heartbeat pounding in his ears, strong and proud and triumphant. He'd never imagined he could feel something this selfless and brave. He'd never imagined that he would encounter someone who made him feel humble and godlike in the same moment.

X could never have felt anything like this. The fact that he was capable of it was the last piece of evidence he needed to really believe he was gone, that the darkness had been finally swept away. He rose through the fire, soaring up, out of memory, out of guilt and shame and horror. Reborn. He was reborn.

Shepard woke smiling and brought a hand to his face. His cheeks were wet, and he tasted salt on his lips and rolled over, onto his stomach with a sigh. It wracked his entire body and left him feeling boneless and languid, happy as a cat in a sunbeam. He breathed slowly, savouring the moment.

For the first time in a long time he felt completely carefree. The Reapers vanished from his mind, not even a whisper of their darkness remained to taint this moment. He was perfectly, mindlessly happy for about a minute and he enjoyed every second of it. The stars moved overhead and he found no terror in them. They were beautiful.

"EDI," he said, pushing himself up with one hand, "how long until our next engagement?"

"We will arrive at the Asari monastery in four hours Shepard," EDI informed him crisply.

"And can I get a status report?"

"One moment. Engines are optimized and maintenance reports are up to date. Weapons arrays have been run through all pertinent tests and calibrated. All systems are up to date and maintenance scheduling has been filed for the next nine cycles. Is there anything else you want to know?"

Shepard paused, running a hand through his hair as he examined his reflection in the fish tank. Normally he would comb it all out and style it properly but his mind was elsewhere at the moment, his triumphant new self arguing with the persistent ghosts of his old insecurities. He pulled on a fresh uniform and zipped it up, not bothering to fuss with the seams.

"Yes. Where is Major Alenko?"

"Major Alenko is on the observation deck," EDI replied, no trace of emotion colouring her voice.

"Is anyone with him?"

"Engineer Adams is reading," EDI informed him. "Crimson Sighs is the title, I believe. A rather dubious novel written primarily for teenage girls, if I'm not mistaken."

"That's not nice," Shepard chided, but he laughed anyway. "Don't tell anyone I laughed."

"I wouldn't dream of it," she said. "Should I arrange a distraction for Engineer Adams?"

Shepard blushed a little, but forced his shoulders back and stood up straighter. Yes, he decided. Now. It had to be now. He couldn't afford to wait for another giant spaceship to come smashing out of the galaxy to destroy him. He could die tomorrow, or in four hours, or in four minutes when an artery burst in his brain or he tripped dismounting the elevator or spontaneously combusted on his way to dinner.

"Yes," he said. "I don't suppose I can rely on this being kept quiet."

"Jeff already knows," EDI replied. She sounded sheepish, a remarkable achievement for an AI. "I apologize."

"No, it's fine," Shepard shook his head, "you can make it up for me by making sure I'm not disturbed."

"Of course."

"I'm serious. I don't want to hear anything unless the ship is on fire or spiralling into a black hole."

"I understand. As far as the rest of the galaxy is concerned, Commander Shepard does not exist for the next four hours."

"I don't know if I can last four hours," Shepard said with a smirk, "but I'm going to give it my best shot."

"Good luck."

If Shepard hadn't known EDI better he would have sworn that somewhere she was smirking at him.

He did take the time to brush his teeth, and he even did some nervous uniform fiddling as he rode the elevator down to the crew deck. As he exited, still trying to convince himself he was totally cool and confident about how this was going to go, Engineer Adams pushed past him and punched the button for the engineering deck.

"Problem?" Shepard asked.

"Nothing serious," Adams didn't look up from the data pad he was reading from. His face was serious and intense.

Shepard had to bite down on his fist to keep his laughter in check as he turned his shoulder on the engineer and the elevator and headed for the observation deck. His stomach was twisting itself into knots as the doors slid open in front of him, but he imagined that he was really confident as he locked them behind him. Kaidan's back was to him, and he closed the distance between them with a few broad strides that almost convinced him he really was sure of himself. He didn't realize something was wrong until he was mustering the courage to reach out and touch him.

"Kaidan?"

"Hey Shepard." Kaidan's face was a bloodless ashy grey, his eyes dark and far away. He didn't look away from the vista of the stars stretching out beyond the windows and he looked just as cold and distant as they did.

"What's going on?" Shepard felt his stomach pull down into an impressive spiral of twisted flip-flops. He knew that face, that tone of voice, all too well. It was the face a man wears when he's just gotten very bad news from home, and it was terrible to behold. Shepard was all too aware of the extent of his ineptitude when it came to comforting and counselling his friends on family matters.

"It's nothing," Kaidan said, forcing a wooden smile onto his face and shrugging like his shoulder blades were made of razors. It was a weak out, but it was an out. He could make a few moments of painful small talk and escape, if he wanted to be a coward.

To his surprise, Shepard found that he didn't. Even if he had wanted to take the opportunity he wouldn't have, but for the first time in his life he found that he wanted to reach out, wanted to put himself in that awful, awkward, painful position. He wanted to be there.

"It's not nothing," he said, reproach in his voice. "Come on. I thought we were past this."

"You have enough to worry about," Kaidan sighed, rubbing a hand through his short dark hair but he turned so that they were facing each other. He seemed to be finding something on the floor between them very interesting and stared down at it as he ran his hand down the back of his neck, wincing at the tension he found gathered there.

"No I don't," Shepard insisted. "Kaidan, talk to me. I..." He struggled with a thousand and one things he wanted to say, blowing out a lungful of exasperation as his hands balled into helpless fists at his sides. "I want to hear it."

He didn't know what to do with his hands, but his body didn't seem to need his advice. They rose, one of the cupping the back of Kaidan's neck, the other his jaw. They applied the slightest bit of pressure, pulling his face up so he couldn't look at the floor.

They looked at each other and Shepard wondered why Kaidan was the only one who seemed to see anything human in his eyes anymore. He could see them make other people uncomfortable when they held eye contact for too long, even practised stoics like Garrus and Thane were not unaffected. But never Kaidan, they looked at each other and Shepard knew that he didn't need to know all the right words and how to put them together into a cohesive sentence. Kaidan could see it all in his eyes.

"The survivors of my dad's squad checked in with their commanders," Kaidan said after a minute. "They got separated by an ambush. They were in heavily infested territory and..." His voice broke and wound down into nothing. His shoulders lifted and fell in a heavy shrug and he seemed to cave in on himself a little, something going out of him.

"He's dead," he said softly, "my dad's dead."

Shepard put his arms around him. It seemed like the right thing to do. There weren't any words for a moment like this, Shepard was convinced that even if he'd been a normal person he wouldn't have known what to say. There was no way to heal this hurt, nothing his guns or fists or swaggering intellect could do to make things right. Kaidan leaned against him and Shepard held him up and neither of them said anything.

Kaidan cried like a soldier, silent and still. There wasn't any sobbing or shaking or the other usual messy dramatics, just a moment of furious tears falling on the shoulder of Shepard's uniform. When he lifted his head and took a deep breath, strength returning to his shoulders and back, Shepard leaned back and wiped the last tears off his face.

There was another small but important moment of silence where they stood there, warm in the circles of each other's arms. There was something so human about this thing that existed between them. It was startling to realize how deep it went, how important it had become, how fundamentally it had changed his life. Shepard felt his complex thoughts come to a screeching halt as he looked at this person that had become so unexpectedly important to him.

"Kaidan," Shepard said softly, "I know it's been said before, and it sounds stupid and hysterical and naive, but there's no point in giving up hope now. We're fighting this insane war against completely ridiculous odds and we're all still hoping that we'll pull some sort of miracle out of somewhere and succeed. All of that blind, wildly illogical hope is... human."

Kaidan looked at him for a moment, and then a tiny smile touched his lips. There was still sadness in it, no words could take all the grief out of this moment, but it was not so hopeless as the expression that had been there before. Kaidan rubbed his red eyes with one hand and almost laughed, breath exploding out of him as though he was relieved, like he'd needed someone to tell him it was okay to hope. He nodded, and his smile grew a little wider. It broke a little of the heaviness in the air and Shepard let himself smile in return. The seriousness of the moment lessened.

He was relieved. He was glad he hadn't taken the out, but he was still relieved.

"Why did you lock the door?" Kaidan asked, clearing his throat to rid it of the rasp tears left behind them.

"Ah," Shepard glanced away, "I didn't want... I..." He blushed. "It's not important."

"I thought we were past this," Kaidan said, doing an expert imitation of Shepard's amused-yet-perturbed expression.

"It's... well..." He felt himself blushing deeper, the colour no doubt burning through the rich brown tones of his skin and ducked his chin. "The crew might think we're in here screwing each other senseless. Or, at least, EDI and Joker think that so it's only a matter of time until the rest of the crew does to."

Kaidan looked surprised for a moment, and then his eyes narrowed and a sly expression spread across his face.

"You came down here to seduce me?" He asked, sounding delighted if not particularly inflamed. "What happened to Donnely's three date rule?"

"Vega told me the three date rule is for nerds," Shepard admitted, blushing harder.

"It is a little quaint," Kaidan admitted. "But I kind of liked it. It was gentlemanly."

"You're such an ass," Shepard swore, punching him lightly on the arm and stepping back, crossing his arms over his chest. "Anyway, it's, you know, no pressure and everything. I just thought... I don't know what I thought."

He fidgeted.

"I'm going to stop talking," he decided a loud. "In fact, you know what, I should just go. That's probably what I should do."

He turned his shoulder, intent on scuttling away in shame before every drop of blood in his body made its way to his face and the back of his neck. He considered a number of colourful suicide options and fought the urge to just break into a run.

"Were you thinking that it's stupid to wait?" Kaidan asked, his voice surprisingly firm and calm. "Because we could both die at any moment from any number of stupid things and then we'd just be a couple of idiots who let it all slip through our fingers twice?"

Shepard glanced over his shoulder, his face still burning. Kaidan's eyes were as intense as they'd been when Shepard entered the observation deck, but it was something entirely different behind them. He had been cold before, icy and distant, but there was nothing but heat in the look that passed between them.

"Something like that..." He admitted.

"Because that's all I've been thinking," Kaidan said forcefully, closing the distance between them. "Ever since the Presidium. At any point a Reaper or some other piece of insanity we haven't even seen yet could come smashing out of nowhere to destroy us just like the Collectors did and if that happened, if you died before I... before I..." He stumbled, losing a little of the fire that had been putting so much confidence in him. They looked at each other, both of them blushing wildly.

"We are the worst," Shepard sighed. "The absolute worst. I don't know how two people can be so bad at talking."

Kaidan laughed, nodding, and the two of them grinned at each other for a moment.

"I love you," Shepard said finally.

"I love you to," Kaidan smiled, and took the final small step that brought the two of them together, reaching for him, "don't go."

* * *

><p>I've been trying to write stuff with the other characters, but all that comes out is more ShepardKaidan. So I guess you'll all just have to suffer through oodles of it.


	32. Satisfaction

Sex is great, but it's not what really gives us pleasure. The act is nothing, it's the lover that's important.

- Emberine, Asari Consort

* * *

><p>He was cast adrift, spiralling out of control.<p>

It came without warning. He was used to being in control of himself at all times, used to seeing the world as something essentially simple. Being smart helped. Most things that were important to him could easily be reduced into numbers. Tech was the most obvious, he actually enjoyed putting together armour suites and weapon specs. It was almost therapeutic in a way, something he could completely and utterly understand, numbers within numbers that could be combined in a thousand different ways. It was the most obvious, but he could say the same thing about anything really. Eating and sleeping, politics, battlefields and poker, everything was numbers if he thought about it long enough, and being able to do that made his life a great deal easier than it would have been otherwise.

But not people. It had taken him a ridiculously long time to realize this. People were these senseless balls of life that defied his attempts to rationalize and reduce. He was forced to accept that there was no way he could control them and though they could be manipulated he wouldn't be able to do it with math. It made his life more complicated, but better. Before he had realized this he had been little more than a machine, which was better than an animal but no less inhuman. He had never thought it would be better to go back to the way he'd been in Basic and in the first months of his time at Tech Academy.

He'd always stayed in control of himself, despite all that. Other people were complicated, but he was simple and always had been. Again, being smart helped. He could organize his thoughts and feelings with a dexterity that surprised even him, cutting through the muddiness of emotion with the razor of critical thinking. He rarely got bogged down for long in useless emotions like doubt, or hatred, or anger. There had been exceptions to that rule, but not many.

Now all that control, that carefully shaped and maintained bastion of his life, was slipping away. He didn't know whether he should cling to it with all his strength or just let himself go, get swept up in the tidal wave of what was happening and surrender to the momentum.

Kaidan pulled him back, away from the narrow aisle between the seats and into the middle of the tiny 'deck' that gave the room its name. His hand was on the back of Shepard's neck, gentle but insistent. He stopped short and they stood at arms length for a moment, looking at each other. He couldn't see any of the conflict boiling within him in Kaidan's face, the other man looked completely sure of himself. He pulled again, his other hand coming up, the fingers lacing in Shepard's hair and their lips met.

On the Presidium, and in the precious few moments of privacy they'd been able to steal since then, their contact had been carefully controlled. The attraction was powerful, but neither of them was the type to forget that they were officers and certain proprieties had to be observed. With only a few hours of stolen freedom available to them now Kaidan didn't seem to think there was any time to waste on such frivolity. His lips were hungry and his tongue slid against the seam of Shepard's lips, hot and demanding.

_Fuck it_, said some little voice in the back of his head who had no use for math and logic, _just let go._

It was, he thought, the best choice.

Shepard's mouth opened under Kaidan's probing tongue and the other man surged forward, his grip tightening. Shepard wrapped his arms around him and pulled their chests together. His grip on the sterile, rational part of the world fell away and he found something to replace it that was just as hot, as insistent, as Kaidan. Shepard's fingers traced the hills and valleys of muscle standing out in his back and he smiled against his mouth.

There were some definite perks to dating military men.

"You smell amazing," Kaidan murmured as their lips parted. The hand on the back of Shepard's head kept him in place as his mouth wandered along the line of his jaw toward his ear. His breath was hot against his skin, his voice husky. "Almost as good as you taste."

The heat in his voice was enough to make Shepard blush, a sultry ribbon that undercut the relatively harmless choice of words. Kaidan took the lobe of his ear into his mouth and sucked and Shepard was helpless to suppress the shudder it sent through him, from fingertips to toes. Almost everyone had some sort of reaction to things like that, but it had always been one of his biggest turn-ons. His fingers balled up around handfuls of Kaidan's uniform and his breath came hissing slowly between his teeth as he struggled to control the urge he had to shove Kaidan down on the floor and rip all his clothes off.

Kaidan noticed, Shepard could feel him smile against his neck as he kissed and nipped his way across the smooth, freshly-shaved skin. Kaidan was less diligent than him in one respect at least, and his stubble scratched pleasantly against Shepard's neck as his fingers trailed down, out of his hair and followed the pulsing line of his jugular vein. Shepard could hear his pulse beating wildly against Kaidan's fingers and he felt the other man's grin widen until he felt teeth against his skin.

His hands seemed to have minds of their own. He'd taken Alliance uniforms on and off so many times it was basically muscle memory by now anyway, and he found the zippers and buttons of Kaidan's without any help from his intoxicated brain. Whatever pheromones Kaidan was throwing out were enough to make Shepard's mind reel, thought retreating before the power of naked sensation. He frowned, grimacing with frustration as he found a t-shirt underneath the uniform. He pulled it up and Kaidan raised his arms, tearing his lips away from the truly phenomenal work they had been doing, so Shepard could pull his shirt and the top half of his uniform off. It was quite a sight.

"You're so white," he grinned, running a hand down the planes of hard military muscle on display for him. The contrast of his warm brown skin against Kaidan's chest was striking, and he smiled as he looked up.

"Is that really what you have to say?" Kaidan asked, arching an eyebrow. "Really?"

"Relax," Shepard grinned, "you're totally hot, and I've noticed. Muy caliente." He rolled the Spanish words off his tongue, savouring the familiar music of his native language. "I should probably warn you that I lapse into Spanish a lot, especially during."

He watched the adam's apple rise and fall in Kaidan's throat as he swallowed.

"I don't think that'll be a problem," he said, "I uh... like it when you speak Spanish."

"I know," Shepard grinned. "I've known that for a long time, you always did a piss-poor job of pretending it didn't get you hot and bothered."

Kaidan blushed, and Shepard slid his arms back around him, running his hands over the warm skin available to him now. He kissed Kaidan's jaw, feeling stubble against his lips, and followed it to his ear. He breathed softly against it, feeling Kaidan stiffen in his arms before his fingers started to work on Shepard's own uniform.

"What else do you like?" He asked softly, brushing the shell of his ear with his lips. One hand slipped down and between them, cupping Kaidan's groin through the thick fabric of his uniform. Shepard grinned and ran his tongue along the edge of his ear, enjoying the way Kaidan's breath was getting ragged and hot.

"I... ah..." Kaidan moaned, pulling Shepard's uniform open and slipping his hands inside, running them over his ribs until Shepard shuddered and grimaced at the tickling sensation they invoked. "If we're doing confessions I should probably say that... I've never gone this far with another guy before."

Shepard looked up, raising an eyebrow as a small smile touched his lips.

"Really?" He asked.

"Just a little making-out and groping," Kaidan admitted, blushing.

Shepard's smile widened, becoming a full-fledged, toothy grin as his hand moved against the bulge in Kaidan's trousers. He watched Kaidan's eyes slide closed, his head tipping back as his chest trembled under the force of his accelerated breathing, his entire body going rigid. Shepard kissed his neck, tasting sweat on his skin, as his unoccupied hand starting undoing his fly.

"Te deseo," he murmured huskily, working every ounce of heat he could into his voice, rolling the Spanish syllables.

Kaidan moaned wordlessly, his face twisting into a grimace of pleasure as Shepard's hand pushed the folds of his uniform aside and stroked him slowly through the thin fabric of his standard-issue boxers. He was painfully hard against Shepard's palm and seemed to react to every touch, every shift in speed or pressure. His hands on Shepard's shoulders locked tight, fingernails biting into his skin.

"Te necesito," Shepard breathed, sliding his trousers and boxers down over his hips, taking his time, letting his fingers explore the warm, pale skin.

"Fuck that's hot," Kaidan growled, pushing him back a step and pulling at his belt and zipper with both hands. "I wish I spoke Spanish..."

"It would be less exotic if you understood it, wouldn't it?" Shepard asked, pushing his hands away. Kaidan seemed intent to fight him, but Shepard kissed his neck again, and then the line of his collarbone and he stilled. "It would take the mystery out of it if you knew what I was saying." He kissed his chest, rolling his tongue over one dark nipple and lower, feeling goosebumps spring up across the pale skin.

"I guess you have a point," Kaidan said shakily. Shepard could feel his breath trembling under his lips. "Could you say something else?"

"Si," Shepard grinned, sinking to his knees in front of him, "quiero mamar."

Shepard took his time. Kaidan's fingers ran through his hair and he could hear his ragged breaths interrupted by small wordless gasps and moans as his tongue teased its way up and down his length. His fingers tensed, nails rasping against Shepard's scalp as he paused at the head and swirled his tongue around it, looking up into his eyes for a moment. Beads of sweat stood out on Kaidan's forehead and Shepard could see a haze of a blush spread across his cheeks, a glazed, drunken look in his brown eyes along with a searing heat and need. Shepard pressed forward, engulfing him in the heat of his mouth and Kaidan's eyes closed, his head rolling back as his hips thrust forward involuntarily. Shepard quickened his pace, and was rewarded by another long moan.

"Fuck!" Kaidan gasped. And then his name.

He spent a moment wondering if he should tell Kaidan to call him Trinidad. Shepard was technically his surname after all, but it didn't feel right to use any other name. Trinidad didn't have any meaning to him, it was just something he used when he was filling out paperwork. It wasn't his name anymore than X was.

Kaidan swore again, his fingers locked firmly around the back of Shepard's head now. He was holding himself back, Shepard could feel the tension, see it standing out in the sleek wall of muscle that rose up in front of him. He sucked, his cheeks hollowing out, and chuckled as Kaidan made a strangled, nameless sound of pleasure and pushed him away gently, breathing hard.

"I can't... hold on..." He gasped, his grip loosening as his hand trailed down and cupped Shepard's chin. Kaidan didn't pull him up, instead he put his other hand on his shoulder and pushed him down on his back, capturing his mouth as his hands went back to work on the front of Shepard's trousers. In a moment he had them undone and was slipping them off, taking his boxers with them. The floor was cold, he knew, but nothing could penetrate the searing heat between them. It had been building for years now, it could have shut out the freezing wind of Alchera if it needed to.

Kaidan smiled down at him as their lips parted.

"Is it always like that with men?" He asked, still a little breathless. "That was... mind-blowing."

"You'll never go back to women after this," Shepard grinned, "I guarantee it."

Kaidan laughed, and kissed him, their embrace long and unexpectedly tender in the middle of all that raw need. Kaidan revisited what he had learned about Shepard's most sensitive places, taking his earlobe in his mouth and sucking, his teeth nipping gently. His hand moved between them, doing its own exploring, raising the intensity of Shepard's need for him with its slow, teasing strokes.

"Me estas volviendo loco," he whispered, grinning at the physical shudder it sent rippling down Kaidan's back and drawing his nails down it in time, "te quiero mucho."

Kaidan swore again, biting the thick muscle of Shepard's shoulder lightly as he raised a hand and slipped his fingers into his mouth. Shepard was startled for a moment, he had gotten used to being on top over the years. He only hesitated for a second before he ran his tongue over Kaidan's fingers, slipping it between the knuckles as their eyes locked. He could be flexible. He would have done just about anything at that moment, no matter how weird, if it just meant they could finally be together.

"I thought you'd never been with a man before," he said, shuddering and going stiff for a moment when Kaidan pushed a finger inside him.

"I did some homework," Kaidan replied, watching his face carefully.

Shepard pulled him down, their lips coming together, and lost himself in the velvet heat of his mouth and tongue. Kaidan was patient, slow, and what had felt uncomfortable and painful quickly became sweet. Shepard gasped against his mouth as he pulled his fingers out and positioned himself carefully.

"Are you ready?" He asked, ever the gentleman.

"Si," Shepard moaned, no longer lapsing into Spanish for the romantic effect. He couldn't come up with an English word to save his life. His hands clenched tight on Kaidan's shoulders, his nails digging into his skin as a flush spread across his face. The heat was painful, almost unbearable. "Kaidan, te necesito."

Kaidan pushed forward slowly, carefully. He was as cautious in this as he was in anything else but there was more to it as well, something tender rather than just timid. Shepard resisted the natural urge to whimper and squirm at the invasion, his hands still braced against Kaidan's shoulder as his breathing became short and heavy. His eyes screwed closed and he grimaced. He wondered for a moment if maybe he wasn't as flexible as he'd thought.

The moment passed. Shepard's eyes opened as Kaidan pulled back a little and thrust into him again, his movements still short and gentle. His hand ran along the smooth line of Shepard's jaw as the other planted against the floor beside his head and held him up. He thrust again and Shepard moaned, pleasure finally finding its way through the discomfort. His legs wrapped themselves around Kaidan's waist with no urging from his brain.

"I love you," Kaidan said. He sounded stunned, like the weight of it all hadn't quite struck him until this moment. Shepard could understand that feeling.

"Ah!" Shepard cried out in pleasure, one hand moving to the back of Kaidan's neck as the other braced itself against his shoulder. "Estoy enamorada de ti," he breathed, shuddering against the floor as their pace increased, "ah... que rico, Kaidan."

He'd forgotten how good this could feel, with the right person at least. Their speed increased as the pain retreated and Shepard's eyes closed, his body rocking in time with Kaidan. He felt beads of sweat trickle across his forehead and run through his short red hair and Kaidan locked his fingers in the damp strands, pulling his head back so he could kiss his neck, his earlobes, teeth and tongue slipping out to tease the most sensitive places. He thrust deeper, harder than he had before and his biotics flared, a flicker of blue energy that crackled across his shoulders and down his arms, raising the fine hair on Shepard's arms like a shock of static electricity.

"Que riquisimo," Shepard moaned, whispering it into Kaidan's ear, "me encanta."

Their pace increased, and gained a frantic edge that had Shepard's nails digging into Kaidan's skin, his eyes fluttering closed as his mouth formed meaningless sounds of pleasure. Kaidan's biotics flared again, and then again, wreathing him in blue light that made Shepard's skin tingle. His hand moved between them and gripped his hard length and Shepard gasped, every muscle drawing tight as a bowstring as he hurtled toward the black edge of completion.

"Shepard," Kaidan whispered his name in his ear, "look at me."

He wasn't sure what the point of it was, until he forced his eyes open and blinked sweat away from them, looking up into Kaidan's eyes. It was different like this, not a frantic push toward physical completion but an act of connection. This wasn't sex, it was making love and for some reason that just made it hotter. Shepard gasped and writhed and called Kaidan's name as they both tumbled over the edge. Shepard could feel every muscle clench like an angry fist as a he came into Kaidan's palm, his hips bucking as his legs tightened around the other mans waist. He felt Kaidan come inside him a moment later.

"Ay dios mio," Shepard sighed, wiping his forehead on the back of his hand as Kaidan collapsed against his chest, breathing hard and ragged. "Eres fabuloso en la cama."

"I am going to have to learn Spanish if you start using it all the time," Kaidan threatened wearily, his forehead pressed against Shepard's chest, over the heart.

"Sorry," Shepard laughed, "it's been a while since I actually forgot how to speak English. Take it as a compliment."

"I do," Kaidan looked up and smiled, stretching up until their lips met. He rolled them over and Shepard shuddered as he slipped out and wrapped his arms around Kaidan's neck, pulling them close. They kissed for a long moment, slow and lazy and satiated.

"Jesus Christ," Shepard sighed when their lips parted, "even I had no idea how much I needed that. I feel like I could hop out and punch Harbinger in the face right now."

He nestled against Kaidan's side, his arm thrown lazily over his chest, his head on his shoulder. Kaidan's arm was against his shoulders, the other folded over Shepard's hand on his chest. Pretty damn snuggly for a couple of military slobs, but Shepard just closed his eyes and ignored the part of him that told him he was being silly. The moment was still, like an island of peace in the middle of all the war around them. Shepard would have loved for it to last forever, but the real world would find them eventually. They would have to get cleaned up and try to pretend everyone didn't know what was going on, and then probably have to fight their way through some sort of fucked up situation at the asari monastery.

He thought about checking the time on his omni-tool, but he was too comfortable at the moment. He had no way of knowing how long the two of them just lay there together, not talking and not feeling any need to.

"We probably could have done this in your cabin," Kaidan said finally. "We're like teenagers, fucking on the floor."

"Can't beat the view," Shepard replied, looking up. "I was trying to be romantic."

Kaidan smiled at him.

"Were you whispering romanticthings in my ear then?" He asked with a wicked grin. "Because they sure didn't sound romantic."

"It wasn't all dirty," he laughed, "sometimes things just sound weird and unnatural in English. Maybe it's just easier to say some things when people don't understand what I'm saying." He paused, rolling a few of those certain things over in his head.

"Te amare para siempre," he said softly, something he didn't think he'd ever feel comfortable saying when anyone could understand him.

Kaidan stroked the line of his jaw gently, his smile tender. Clearly he'd understood at least some of that, even if it was nothing more than the tone of his voice.

Then they sat up and cleaned themselves up, laughing a little bit at the sight of their clothes strewn across the observation deck. Shepard was beginning to feel the cold of the metal floor against his skin and the stiffness reclining on it was putting into his muscles. He had a powerful craving for a cigarette, but he knew Kaidan hated it and he'd decided to quit after their date on the Presidium.

"So... are you going back on duty?" Kaidan asked, his casual tone so exaggerated it made Shepard laugh.

"I told EDI that she was forbidden to bother me for the next," he finally checked his clock, "two hours."

Kaidan grinned.

"While maybe we should go up to your cabin," he suggested.

"You want to go another round?" Shepard asked with a grin.

"Yeah," Kaidan blushed a little, even standing naked with him wiping his cum off his hand. "I was thinking maybe... we could try it the other way around?"

Shepard's grin widened.

"You're the best," he said earnestly, "have I told you that?"

Kaidan shook his head no.

"But you can tell me all about it when we get to your cabin," he said as he tossed Shepard his trousers, "in Spanish."

* * *

><p>Sorry if the Spanish is a little shaky. It's been a few years since I was anywhere that I needed to speak it frequently, and they sure didn't teach stuff like that in Conversational 100.<p>

Anyway. I've been thinking a lot about how I want to end this story lately and I've made a decision.

After re-reading portions of the finished product and thinking about how I wanted to resolve the story I've decided I'm probably going to finish this one up in the next few chapters. I'm then going to get the old parts betaed and add some things that I wish I'd added that will help me resolve some things between characters and give me more to write about in the ME3 section of the story. I'll also probably do a lot more with Shepard's younger years, because there are some things I want to do there too.

I'm still struggling with how exactly I want to end it. I think I'm going to take a look at the Extended Edition before I make up my mind, so I don't know how fast the next few updates are going to be.

If anyone knows, or maybe is, a good beta-reader please drop me a suggestion through a PM.


	33. Authors Note

Hi guys!

Long time no see, I know. I've been wanting to post some sort of resolution/explanation for a while now, and there are a couple reasons I haven't, which I'll get into shortly.

The first is that I always planned to have this finished before the end of last summer, but getting ready to go back to school sort of took over and I lost track of the story. When I looked back at it I figured 'well, I'll just write a couple quick chapters to resolve the end for everyone and get back to my own work.'

That obviously didn't happen. This is because a) art school literally consumed my life. No joke. I'm taking a program that focuses on comic arts actually, so storytelling is a big part of it and my own stories have demanded all my attention over the last few months, as they deserved. And b) when I decided I wanted to rewrite it I second guessed my decision to reveal exactly how I wanted it to end. I thought it might be better if I left it hanging, because I thought I'd have time to start writing again once things 'settled down.'

Things did not settle down.

But my school year is done in April, and I won't be taking any more classes until September after that. I thought about abandoning my plans to rewrite this story, but I believe that my storytelling skills have gotten a lot better since I wrote these chapters and I not only want to continue to develop (and fanfiction is a great, low-pressure way to do just that) but I also just really want to give you guys a really great, polished story that covers all the big holes I left in this one and gives every character a chance to shine. I dreadfully neglected characters like EDI, Joker, Thane, Vega, Cortez and Tali, who I feel deserve a lot more attention and development. Grunt, Jacob and Legion don't appear in it at all.

I also already have a bunch of new scenes and rewrites already done, it's just that they all happen to be concentrated in the ME2 section at the moment.

So basically, this is just a little explanation as to why I dropped off the face of the planet and what's going on with this story. I'm still very hesitant to post more chapters to this incarnation of the story, but I understand if you guys would like to see them now instead of waiting for me to get the new one out, which will probably start coming sometime in the next couple weeks, depending on how intense my final portfolio review gets. I promise the first parts of the new story will come out by the end of April.

If you'd like me to finish this story, please drop me a message/comment. I won't make any promises, but hearing from you is pretty much the only thing that has a chance of convincing me.

Thank you to everyone who supported this story and who plans on supporting the new one! Your compliments really spurred me on and gave me the confidence I needed to embrace art school and pursuing creativity as a career rather than just a hobby.

I hope to see you in the new comments section!

- K.


	34. Epilogue

Epilogue

Peace is not just the absence of war, it is accord and harmony. No man can go back and change his beginnings to make himself free from war, but any man can start in war and seek a peaceful end.

- Matriarch Nazerine

She started crying right on time, two hours after the last bout, just when he was getting back to sleep.

"I'll get it."

Kaidan murmured thanks as he felt a warm, sleepy kiss on his temple, dry and scratchy with stubble. He burrowed deeper into his pillow as the bed shifted and he listened to bare feet pad across the floor and away, down the hall. He frowned, trying to will himself into the black oblivion that his body craved, but the crying continued, unchecked, until he sighed with defeat and pushed himself up.

"What's up?" He asked, rubbing sleep out of his eyes as he emerged into the kitchen.

"I don't know. She just won't stop."

Shepard bounced the baby against his shoulder and shot Kaidan a desperate look. He was looking baggy and hollow, deep bags worked under his blood shot eyes like smears of india ink. He rubbed the squalling baby gently between the shoulder blades and kissed her ear, but his affection only seemed to upset her more. Her tiny hands balled into fists, beating against his shoulder as she screwed up her face and wailed.

"Did you change her?"

"No," Shepard snapped, "that never occurred to me in the last fifteen minutes of screaming."

"I'm sorry."

"Yeah, well..." Shepard looked away, scowling, and shrugged. "Me too."

"You don't have to get her every time," Kaidan said, coming up beside him and putting a hand on his free shoulder, squeezing. "We're in this together."

"I... damnit," Shepard swore, looking away into the shadows, "just... take her. Please, take her."

He handed the baby over and pushed past Kaidan, heading back toward their darkened bedroom.

"Shh," Kaidan whispered, resettling her against his shoulder and patting her back in gentle circles. "He's just tired, and all your crying is stressing him out. Daddy loves you."

She burped twice and spit up a big patch of warm liquid that soaked into his t-shirt, already stained by half a dozen such accidents, and finally quieted. He walked in circles around the kitchen island, singing disjointed snips of lullabies and trying to ignore the toys, scatted like landmines across the floor. After a few minutes he felt her relax completely and carried her back to the small nursery, tucking her in under her blankets. He ran a finger down the trim, hand-stitched silk in a pattern of tropical fish. Shepard had picked them out.

They had adopted Ashley four months ago, just a few weeks after she had been born and surrendered to Children's Services in Havana by her mother. The first time he held her Kaidan had felt his entire world contort and contract, centering in around the tiny bundle of caramel skin and black fuzz in his arms. He'd felt like he was never going to stop smiling.

Shepard hadn't smiled once. He hadn't really had any reaction at all, just studied her face for a long time, staring into those brown eyes until Kaidan hadn't been able to resist.

"Well?"

"She's... good. I mean, great. She's great."

Things had gone downhill from there.

Kaidan found him still awake when he returned to the bedroom. Shepard was sitting on the edge of their bed with his face blank, hands braced against his knees as he stared into the gathered shadows. Neither of them spoke as Kaidan stripped out of his spittle-soaked shirt and pulled on another.

"I'm sorry," Shepard said when he went to climb back into bed.

"I know," Kaidan sighed. They sat with their backs to each other for a moment, in silence.

"You're so good with her, and I'm... I'm terrible," Shepard put his head in his hands, his voice brittle, cracking on the last word. "I should have known this would happen."

"Stop," Kaidan turned, scooting across the bed and putting his arms around him from behind. Shepard didn't react to the touch, he stayed bowed in around himself like a defeated man. "You're trying. Not everyone can just turn father mode on like they're flipping a switch."

"It's not that," Shepard moved his hands to his knees but his head stayed down, like he was holding all the weight of the world on the back of his neck. "When we were talking about getting her she was just this nebulous blob surrounded by a pink glow. It was easy, just buying things and filling out paperwork and giggling like twits. But I knew the moment I saw her."

"Knew what?"

"I'm going to break her," Shepard said, his hands clenching into fists and his voice trembling. "She's so small, so vulnerable, and so not prepared for all the totally messed up parts of me. It's like holding a glass doll and I just know that I'm going to..." He mimed dropping something valuable to the ground and sighed heavily, his shoulders grinding down another inch.

Kaidan adjusted his grip, laying his chin on Shepard's shoulder so he could watch his face, lit by the glow of the hallway light spilling into their room. He looked so tired, and he was losing weight as well, the healthy layer of fat wasting away until Kaidan could see each muscle and tendon standing out under his skin. He'd let his hair grow black and shaggy over the last couple years, stopped shaving twice a week, and lost his heavy military body, replacing it with the lean, hard muscle of a swimmer. In the shadows of the dark room, with that look of utter defeat on his face, and everything that had changed so much about him it was hard to recognize him for a moment.

"Shepard," Kaidan sighed, "that's just bullshit. I'm sorry, it is."

A smile cracked Shepard's grim mask and he turned, catching Kaidan's gaze. His eyes were the same, if a little dopey from lack of sleep. Still the bluest things Kaidan had ever seen, and he could look through the thin physical shell that had changed so much and see Shepard in them, as clear as anything. They smiled at each other for a moment, and Shepard turned, pulling one knee up on the bed and sliding his arms around him, pulling him close.

"There is... something inside of you, Shepard, that makes you want to protect people so desperately you'll do it until it kills you. And, I mean, it literally did kill you that one time," Kaidan grinned, brushing his jaw with his thumb, feeling the now familiar scratch of his stubble. "And I think when people ask how and why you were able to do everything you did, that's why. And I think when I wonder how we wound up here together like this, that's why too. No matter what happens, no matter what you do, I know you'll give the same inhuman devotion you gave the galaxy to our daughter. I know you'll do anything for her. And if you do," Kaidan mimed dropping something, "I'll be there. Because we're in this together."

Shepard had gone serious again at some point during his talk, but he smiled again after a moment, grinned, full of the same expansive confidence that had once made him seem so invincible. He pulled Kaidan closer and kissed him, slow and deep, savouring every moment. They hadn't had time for intimacy in weeks, and Kaidan closed his eyes, leaning into it.

"We should get married," Shepard said, when they broke apart.

"I thought you said marriage was stupid and we didn't need a piece of jewelry to tell us what we were to each other," Kaidan said, quoting verbatim from the conversation they'd had almost five years ago, sitting in the same bed.

"I know, I say a lot of stupid bullshit. You're the one that makes me realize just how stupid it is, which tells me that I should probably marry you."

"Romantic."

"I'm serious. I don't know what I'd do without you," Shepard did look very serious as he said this, his blue eyes catching the light. "You make me stronger than I ever was when I was saving the galaxy. You're all I want, all I need. Just you, and Ashley. I want to be your husband, and I want you to mine."

"You are being romantic," Kaidan grinned. It was a rare occasion, neither of them was really equipped to be the sweet nothings type. He pulled Shepard close and kissed him again. His skin was warm and he tightened his arms, pulling Shepard onto the bed and laying him down on the silk sheets. It had been a long time since they'd been able to devote so much attention to one another and he spent a moment rediscovering the typography of his body, fingers and tongue exploring.

"Shepard," he whispered, leaning back before the momentum seized him and carried him away, "I'd love to marry you."

They married each other on the beach outside Puerto Vallarta three months later, with only their friends and his mother to witness. Everything was white, the chairs and the simple flowers, the cotton beach clothes they wore, Ashley's dress as she burbled happily in her grandmothers arms and watched. Shepard shaved and cut his hair, but left it black. Neither of them wore their dress uniforms or their piles of medals and commendation bars. Everything was fresh and new.

"Sometimes I wonder what I did to deserve all this," Shepard said as his new mother-in-law handed over their infant baby. Ashley reached for him and cooed, stroking his smooth cheeks with her tiny hands.

"I don't," Kaidan kissed his cheek. Ashley grabbed hold of Shepard's earlobes, one in each hand, and gave them a yank, giggling with delight at the face he pulled. "Look at that. I think she just hated your patchy beard."

"It wasn't patchy!" Shepard looked offended, or tried to, it couldn't quite make it through his smile. "Still. I think I'll start shaving again."

"Thank god."

Just like that it was perfect, exactly the way weddings were supposed to be.

* * *

><p>"So," Garrus came up behind him, his heavy boots rattling the boards of the dock. Shepard looked up, his feet trailing in the cool water, and smiled as he caught sight of the bottle in his clawed hand.<p>

"What's your offering?"

"Turian bourbon."

"They have that?" Shepard perked up immediately. "How did you get it?"

"Some humans had turian alcohol in their collections. Believe me, it wasn't cheap. It wouldn't have been cheap on Palaven."

"Colour me intrigued," Shepard patted the dock beside him. "Pull up a seat, Vakarian."

"Aye, aye Commander. Or should I call you Captain now?"

Shepard was quiet for a moment.

"I think I'd like people to call me David," he said finally. "I've been thinking about it for a while. Shepard's become a title more than a name, the minute I introduce myself all people see is the legend. I don't think Ashley should grow up with that as her father."

Garrus sat down, tucking his heels against the edge of the dock and cracking the seal on the bottle.

"That's going to take some getting used to," Garrus' voice was dry. "Do you really think that people aren't going to recognize you?"

"I barely recognize myself anymore," Shepard replied, shrugging. "I'm skinny and darker brown than I've ever been, my hair's black. I think I'm going to go to medical school when Ash gets a little older. Pediatrician Doctor David Shepard doesn't sound very legendary."

"Pediatrician? Really?"

"I want to do something good," Shepard laughed, "but something that doesn't involve running all over the galaxy shooting things. I want to set a good example."

"It still boggles my mind that you're a father."

"It boggles your mind?" Shepard shook his head and sighed. "Imagine how I feel. Sometimes I go into her room while she's sleeping just to make sure she's really there and I haven't imagined the whole thing."

He accepted the glass that Garrus handed him, the light of the setting sun catching the gold ring on his finger. He studied it for a moment, hyper aware of its weight and warmth against his skin. The liquor poured black and thick as oil, but the light caught it and the surface shimmered, reflecting swirls of red and gold light.

"I didn't mean it like that. It's just... really great. Congratulations."

"Thanks."

They tapped their glasses together and drank. The turian bourbon was strong enough to make his eyes water, and carbonated like all turian booze seemed to be. It stung his nose with harsh floral and citrus as a taste like melted butter and sweet garlic coated his tongue.

"Jesus," he sputtered, grimacing around the mouthful, "that is ungodly foul."

"Yeah," Garrus' mandibles were twitching and he seemed to be having difficulty mustering a grimace strong enough to express his displeasure. "What a waste."

"Oh well," Shepard shrugged and nudged him with the glass. "Give me some more."

"Seriously?"

"If the bottle was that expensive then we better damn well drink it. Besides, I don't want to head back into the crowd just yet."

"Did the idea of not drinking occur to you?"

"Is that a serious question?"

They grinned at each other and Garrus shrugged, pouring for them both. They sat for a while, swearing and gagging around swallows of bourbon, both of them determined to get through it until the haze of alcohol took over and dulled their tastebuds.

"That one wasn't so bad," Shepard said, about four glasses in, "how much have we got left?"

"About half the bottle."

"Goddamn," he swore, leaning back and examining his fresh drink. "I miss this. I mean, I get that you want to be with the other turians, but Jupiter is a fuck of a long way to go for a drink these days."

"Yeah," Garrus sighed and leaned back with him, the two of them examining the emerging stars. "I never get used to the stars being so different," he said after a moment. "I keep looking up for the Warrior Queen, and the Hunters Eye and they aren't there. It's strange to think I'm never going to see them again."

"That's a bitch," Shepard agreed. "I'm sorry, Garrus."

"It's not all bad," he said after a moment, taking another drink. "Dextro terraforming is difficult but not impossible, and it keeps me busy. And the two of us managed to iron out the treaties well enough that I haven't gotten much push back from the human government at all."

"Our proudest moment," Shepard grinned, "becoming diplomats. The two of us proving the rest of our species could get along as well as we do."

"Well," Garrus laughed, "maybe not quite as well."

"Maybe not," Shepard grinned and hit Garrus lightly on the shoulder with the side of his hand. "I love you, brother."

"I love you too," Garrus hit him back, not lightly at all.

"I take it back. I hate you again."

"No you don't, David," he gestured with his drink and brandished the still heavy bottle. "Now drink up. We're not finished yet."

* * *

><p>Well there it is. I don't know that I'm satisfied with it, but after struggling with finding the ending and then deciding whether I wanted to post it I decided to go for it. This isn't nessecarily the ending I'm planning for my revised version of the story, which I've started posting already, but it was the best ending I saw for this particular incarnation of Shepard. When I conceived this story I envisioned him as a tragic character, but when push came to shove this ending just felt more right. And I like it, if nothing else, so at least there's that.<p>

Thanks for reading, and I hope you'll all take a look at Legend as I continue to update it throughout the summer.

Bye for now!

- K


End file.
